


you burn my star down twice as brightly

by l0velikeoxygen



Category: NCT (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Assassins & Hitmen, Awkward Romance, Government Conspiracy, Human Trafficking, M/M, Medicine, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l0velikeoxygen/pseuds/l0velikeoxygen
Summary: "Sorry," laughs the man, smiling as he crawls out of the vent, "oh, God. My back was killing me! Hi," he says, breathily, brushing the bleached hair out of his face, "my name's Ten." He extends a skinny hand out. "And you?""Captain, he's dead," Dejun whispers, but it's clear that he's not very good at whispering – Ten slyly raises an eyebrow, and peels off his mock leather jacket. Anything but faux, Kun supposes, just attracts too much attention. For that matter, being executed on live television might have the same effect."Oh, yeah," Ten gasps, dramatically hitting the side of his head with his palm, "forgot about that. Silly me!"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> some general conversions for you in this story - 
> 
> 1 credit = 1€  
> 1 cycle = 30 hours
> 
> **warnings:** slavery, very obvious references to human trafficking, very bad language, the government are very bad boys as per usual, public execution (but not described in any disturbing detail), ten being a sexy badass because you should know me well by now :)
> 
> title from "half life" by sneaker pimps
> 
> i love you a lot mis amores!! ♡
> 
> \- mars

**1**

When Taeil was in medical school, he studied the catastrophic consequences of Vena dust on the lungs – self-explanatory, in some ways, but the fact is that the effects far outweigh the usefulness of the minerals found in the countless asteroids, all varying in size, just outside of the Vennela Belt. Of course, try telling that to the people who profit from the miners exposing themselves to the dust. 

A _necessary_ cost, life itself – Vena dust kills slowly, painfully, and could easily slip under the radar when adequate medical facilities are not provided as a standard in this mines. These, however, are not required by government policy, and therefore there's no chance in Hell that you'd ever find one settled amongst the thousands of underpaid, starving, lonely workers that slave away to extract every possible milligram of mineral that is possible. Thousands of people, vulnerable and more than likely to fall victim to what is colloquially referred to as the 'Vena Cough', a chest infection that eventually leads to the vomiting of blood, the bruising of ribs, and the development of even nastier conditions.

Influenza. Pneumonia. In particularly nasty cases, more violent coughing leads to life-threatening seizures, brain hemorrhages, and aneurysms – these kill easily, and without remorse. The cough can exist for years without any real issue, but it will eventually catch up to every single miner. Taeil remembers this well, and even detailed the ways to prevent such illnesses – mandatory masks to be provided in order to prevent the inhalation of the dust, free medical checks for those who cannot afford a proper evaluation, and, in the most extreme sense, outlawing the practice of mining these minerals entirely.

Besides, it's not like any of the workers particularly want to be there – everybody _knows_ that half, if not more, of those miners are slaves, trafficked from galaxies far and wide, and therefore are entirely helpless to the whims of their managers. Managers seems like a very autocratic way of putting it, so Taeil supposes that one may easily see how the _managers_ fit the definition of a _master_ quite easily. The problem is, harvesting from the Vennela Belt is a profitable endeavour, and the government don't care if innocent lives are lost – money is money, and the families of the victims don't have the power to kick up any substantial fuss.

Taeil thinks about this objectively – this study was from _years_ ago, and there's no doubt that these dangers are well-documented and commonly known. Even the lowest of the low, trudging away in the depths of the mines with nothing but their next meal on their mind, know that somebody who develops the Vena Cough is never, _ever_ going to get better. People don't recover from this illness – well, not in the conditions the miners live in. If they were in any other setting, a simple prescription of either erythromycin or clarithromycin would be entirely effective in preventing the illness.

The sleeping quarters are dirty, the water is unhygienic, and the ability to wash is non-existent. Taeil doesn't know this from a textbook, however – that life, of clean conditions and full meals and readily available showers, is long gone, and Taeil is stuck in his own personal Hell. Cramped, confined, and unable to breathe – it was a mistake, he knows, but pirates don't care whether you're a licensed doctor or not; if you look like you can work, you can work. 

The worst part is, Taeil knows how to help these people – he knows the ins and outs of their bodies better than they ever will do – but he can't. He has the knowledge, but not the resources to carry out the treatments. He'll die here, probably – though they are chained up and dragged over to the next asteroid every quarter or so – and whether it's this mine or the next one along, Taeil knows that before he dies, he'll watch everybody else die beforehand. 

This is it, Taeil tells himself, as he watches another dead body being carried out of the bunks with a sheet laid on top to cover their modesty. At this point, he's far too used to the stink of death – but not Lucas. Lucas won't die, and Taeil will make damn certain of that. No matter how weak his lungs sound when he hacks, Taeil will do anything to make sure that if anybody is alive at the end of their time here – fifty year contracts, signed easily when the threat of having your head shot through is presented as the other choice – it's Lucas.

Fifty years seems like an awfully long time, though, and Taeil isn't entirely sure his sanity will make the stretch.

Lucas, though – Lucas is strong, but he's sickly – it's a wonder that he's lasted so long, but like Taeil discovered, the Vena Cough doesn't give up so easily. It might take years for it to really set in – to really start to tear him apart – but it always does. Nobody escapes it. 

Taeil can't help him. It seems obvious – it's a _chest infection_ , for God's sake. Illnesses like this shouldn't exist anymore; you find a cure for cancer, fine. You discover how to travel through space, fine. You develop cures and vaccinations for everything from the common cold to cystic fibrosis, fine. But _fuck_ , people are still sick. 

If you don't care about the poor, you don't care about the illnesses that teem among the poorest areas. Slums, for example, but mines nonetheless. Medicine has progressed so far, but money hasn't changed. Either way, Taeil is forced to watch as Lucas hacks and coughs away, planning out the perfect course of antibiotics that would help him so effortlessly. Flu-like symptoms, really – he looks weak, despite his muscular form, and sweaty, partly due to the heat of the mines but partly due to his fluctuating body temperature. 

It's frustrating. All Taeil wants to do is help, but –

"10235, get back to work!" shouts the guard, but it's not the kind of work Taeil expected to be doing when he took the ship from his home planet – Earth, as they once referred to it – and it's laborious, _painful_. His back aches like Hell, his headache is constant, and he's never been so hot in his life. The pick in his hands is heavy, almost agonising to hold, and he can barely stand for it. 

They don't want him to think. They don't want him to even _breathe_ – not out of turn, at least. 

Taeil thinks about home. He's been here for weeks – three weeks, four days, and sixteen hours; he counts in his head, in order to pass the time – and yet it still feels like some kind of hazy, terrifying nightmare that he will, at some point, wake up from. But he won't. This will last until the day he dies, most likely, but he can't wait that long. 

He can _never_ wait that long. Home – home is a distant memory, but even the metallic cities of Earth seem positively heavenly to Taeil right now. Still, though. If he thinks about it too much, he wants to cry – if he even stops to ponder about how his life was once so full of promise, it'll all come flooding back. The pirates. The gun to his head. How they stole everything, from his luggage to his cat to his fucking _dignity_. 

There's nothing to say that people are slaves by nature, but they didn't grow up in circumstances that exactly nurtured free will and education – objectively speaking, nobody should be here. Nobody deserves this, even if they aren't from backgrounds that teach them they should aim above this. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe this is just how the government works – whatever government this is, actually. Taeil can't remember. It's not under Felinus jurisdiction – perhaps Raga, considering their less-than-pleasant past in regards to slave labour. 

These governments do as they please, and face no criticism. Even Felinus has their faults, but _God_ , all of these governments make those on Earth look remarkably justified. Revolution is needed, Taeil thinks, but how? How would one plan to take down a government that occupies an entire planet and holds _billions_ of soldiers ready to fight at any given moment? It's difficult to say, but Taeil doesn't doubt that it could be done.

Taeil keeps these thoughts to himself, and brings the pick down onto the mineral rock just by his feet. 

Okay, Lucas. If Lucas was a normal patient, what would he do? It's a type of flu, most likely, stemming from a chest infection – antibiotics, definitely, bed rest, plenty of fluids. Ironically, a mineral-rich diet would help, too, though the grey porridge they eat probably contains little to no sufficient vitamins or minerals. Lucas is human – or at least _looks_ like a human – and therefore Taeil can better understand his biology. He isn't unfamiliar with aliens – sure, they may well be a little different, but he studied the most common races; Helmi, Rakas, Rumilus – but as a human, he understands them more.

Maybe that makes Taeil powerful – he _understands_ the people around him.

Lucas pinches his arm beside him, and smiles brightly. How can one person be so unaffected by their surroundings? Taeil doesn't know how long he's been here, where he comes from in the first place, what sort of friendly disposition that he's been cursed with that allows him to be so carefree. Either way, does it hurt to be so cheerful? Will Taeil end up like that – not _caring_? 

The likely chance is, Lucas _does_ care – he's just very, _very_ adept at not showing it. Taeil has seen that before. Doyoung, for example, was a first-class example of a nervous wreck that was too scared – too _humiliated_ – to show who he really is. A nervous wreck. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Lucas says, smiling still. No, not really – the interior of the asteroid is mustard coloured, and smells like sulphur. Of course, Taeil is no chemist – he doesn't know about chemicals more than your average high school science scholar – but it does _smell_ like a foul chemical, sulphur or not. The carts are filled to the brim with chunks of yellow, and yet the shovel by Taeil is almost empty. He has nothing to show for his efforts – he isn't _strong_ , physically or mentally. 

Taeil shakes his head. "I just feel sick," he groans. "There's so much dust, and it's _hot_."

Lucas shrugs. Of course – he's used to it. The heat. The unforgiving atmosphere. The constant shouts of commands. The echoes of announcements, indicating when the guards need to rotate from their post. "You'll get used to it," he answers. "Taeil, where are you from?"

Taeil hums. "Nowhere," he answers.

Lucas furrows his brows. "Right. Sure. Well," he says, quietly, "I heard that _Nowhere_ has a nice, long summer. Take me to visit sometime, 'kay?"

Taeil smiles weakly. "No. I'm from Earth."

"I'm not familiar," Lucas says, slowly. Taeil supposes that he might be from some faraway colony – but his roots, Taeil supposes, _are_ from Earth. Hundreds, thousands of years ago, but surely so. "Earth, huh?"

"Well, not _Earth_. Earth II, whatever you want to call it," Taeil explains, bringing his pick down again lightly, not able to garner the strength to slam it down like Lucas does, "the _copy_ of Earth, with all the significant architecture but none of the pollution. The Library of Alexandria. The pyramids of Egypt. Beautiful, sure, but I lived in the city, so none of it mattered all that much. It was just – showing off, I guess. A tourist spot. Expensive living."

"You're rich?" Lucas laughs.

"By definition," Taeil agrees, but he's not proud. His parents put him through medical school, after all, as he watched the television and saw colonies be purged of their resources by the rich to build new cities, new countries, new continents. Pride – how strange a concept. "Are you?"

"Hah. Fuck no. But how'd you end up here? I'm assuming it wasn't your choice," Lucas sighs, "not that it was mine, of course, but – you know, isn't it a bit of a downgrade? Wait…" He stops to think, biting his lip, and then smiles again. "I just wanted to ask – have you ever had a pineapple? A real one?"

"Yes, but – why? Haven't you?" Taeil didn't know that a simple fruit could be such a commodity. 

Lucas shakes his head like that's a ridiculous question, and it probably is. Taeil thinks it's fair to say that he's a little out of touch – but pineapples? "God, I know people who'd cut off an arm for a taste of pineapple," Lucas gushes. "Not the artificial shit, the _real_ thing."

Taeil frowns at the ground, chewing at his lip. "I didn't realise. Where are you from?" 

"Not from a fancy fucking planet, that's for sure," Lucas scoffs, and his dismissal is easy to pin down – he doesn't want Taeil to know where he comes from or what he is. Maybe that's for the best. Nobody seems to be that happy out their upbringing here. "Like I said, how'd you end up here anyway?"

"I – I was kidnapped," Taeil says. He doesn't want to even _think_ about that, but Lucas nods understandingly. After all, it's a fairly common occurrence around these mines. "It was – it was pretty fucking awful, let's say." He blinks at Lucas. "How about you?"

Lucas shrugs. "Sold into slavery. Shit like that happens where I'm from, no biggie," he sighs. He doesn't seem to be bothered by how fucked up the things he's saying are. "But _man_. You must have a family looking for you! People like you don't just go missing and nobody _cares_." The _unlike me_ is obvious enough.

Taeil blinks, and – well, no. Probably not. Sure, it's his bad for not telling anybody where he was going; he just _left_ , promptly and without leaving a note. Fei was so insistent that he had to leave as soon as possible for the best chance to find work in the Felinus galaxy. After all, there were plenty of doctors in the universe, and there was no saying he was any better than the rest. Hospitals are teeming with patients, and therefore teeming with opportunities – if he found work there, he'd never have to worry about much ever again. Holiday pay, talented colleagues, et cetera.

It was a dream come true – but how ridiculous is that now? Taeil knows how that he should have just stopped for a second before boarding that ship, but _God_ , it's not like he can do anything else now. Taeil can't change the past. And his cat! She's long gone now, isn't she? He'll never get Nena back, will he? If he's lucky, the pirates will have stole her as bounty and kept her safe and warm – a cat wouldn't make a very good labourer, after all – but that's not likely. She's dead, Taeil thinks. She's dead, and there's nothing he can do about it.

And his family? Fuck. He'll never see any of them again – not his sister, not her baby, not his parents. His entire extended bloodline. If he escapes from this in fifty years when his contract ends – though highly unlikely, he supposes, unless they outlaw these practices by then – they'll either be dead, or he'll be a completely different person. His sister won't even recognise his face anymore, and he'll just be a tragic story for his niece to hear. 

The brother that went missing. The brother that never came back home. 

"They don't know where I am," Taeil says, shakily, "and I don't think they ever will. My parents are doctors – they can't fight against pirates, they never will be able to. No amount of fuss will get me back."

"You don't know about that!" Lucas insists. "Man, if they come to pick you up, take me with ya. I know you don't know me, but…" He coughs sharply. "I dunno. I just – I just wanna see the worlds, like? Even for a few weeks, and I – I could come back. Or you could just drop me off at a hub planet."

"That's a nice fantasy," Taeil says, "but it's ridiculous. They're not looking, I know, and I'm sorry."

"Nah. Don't be," Lucas laughs, but it's breathy and doesn't sound like _real_ laughter. "My parents are probably far worse. Besides, it's nice to indulge in a little fantasy now and then, right? I have a plan, y'know, if I ever escape – I'm good with machinery and technology, so I think I'd be able to find work on some ship. Y'know, a good job. I'd get paid a working wage, travel the stars properly." He shrugs his shoulders. "And you? What would you do? I'm assuming you're not a machine kinda guy."

"Oh, no," Taeil says. "Well, not ships or engines, but I can work an MRI." He bites his lip. "I'm a doctor. Well, I was. Not much I can do now."

"The only machines I get to be around nowadays are when we get carried from asteroid to asteroid," Lucas explains. "The engines are fucked up, I can tell. All I wanna do is get my hands on them and make them run smoother, not for any benefit of the Company, but – well, for fun. God, if I could get my hands on them –" He frowns. "It doesn't matter. Fat load of good we are, the mechanic and the doctor, stuck in a mineshaft –" 

"You two, shut the hell up!" shouts the guard, and Lucas mockingly mouths his words while facing Taeil. They don't say anything else after that, but Taeil silently smiles to himself, despite thinking he never would.

**2**

"Nurse Nakamoto," Dongyoung snaps, "I know you're following me."

Yuta isn't _following_ him – well, not technically. He works in this hospital too, and has every right to be walking down these corridors, just as Doyoung does. To say he's _following_ him is, quite frankly, an over-dramatisation of the situation at hand. He's just… _Walking_. Walking in the same direction as Dongyoung. Dr. Kim. Doyoung, but only to his closest friends. 

And besides – it's not stalking, is it? He doesn't know where Dongyoung lives – well, not specifically – and for that, he's not a stalker. Definitely. The thing is, Yuta isn't _actually_ interested in Dongyoung. He's interesting, yes, and there's no denying the fact that he's good-looking, but – _fuck_ , that's not it. If this was about sex, Yuta would be trying a little harder to get his attention. All that Yuta is interested in is what Dongyoung represents. Ward 9.

Ward 9 – yes, that's it. Yuta doesn't care about what Dongyoung thinks of him, after all, but it's just – it's just so – Yuta is just so _curious_ about what Ward 9 holds, what is held behind the deadlocked doors, what Dongyoung is doing. Maybe it's not him – maybe – maybe there are far too many questions to even begin to start asking, but if anybody is going to answer Yuta's questions, it's Dongyoung.

He's young. He understands. If Yuta tries hard enough, maybe Dongyoung will get sloppy and start revealing secrets that he really shouldn't. It's against the law to reveal information that would compromise the integrity of the government, which extends to the main hospital planet in the galaxy, and so it's unlikely that Yuta can make Dongyoung crack _that_ easily, but still – what else can he do?

Stealing records just wouldn't do – Yuta can scarcely make his tablet work at the best of times, and so hacking really isn't his forté. If he was to hire somebody to do it for him, the chances that they wouldn't be a shill for the government are not in Yuta's favour. It's not worth the risk – they'll kill him if he's a traitor. They'll kill him if they even _think_ he's a traitor. 

So, Dongyoung. If Yuta can get him to talk, it minimises the possibility of death – public execution sounds pretty nasty, after all, and even _humiliation_ is pretty fucking awful. Yuta can't lose his job – he has _family_ , after all – and he can't die, either. 

"I'm not following you," Yuta defends, and Dongyoung turns around to meet his eyes directly. He's strange, really. "I'm not – I'm walking down this corridor."

Dongyoung raises an eyebrow. "I've been _very_ nice, you see," he comments, "and not said a thing for the past few weeks or so. Maybe I thought it was just a coincidence. Maybe I thought you were just a stupid nurse with an even more stupid crush on me, but now you're just being creepy." He taps his spindly fingers along the back of the tablet he currently holds in his hands. "So, Nakamoto, what is it? A crush? A weird, um, sex thing?"

"Why do you assume it's a _sex_ thing?" Yuta groans.

"Your reputation precedes you, Nakamoto," answers Dongyoung. "Anyway, what is it? Because, quite frankly, I'm rather sick of having my own personal shadow."

"I – I need to know," Yuta says, "what's in Ward 9."

Dongyoung lets out a sharp laugh. "Oh, really? Is _that_ what this is about?"

"It's not like anybody else is telling me!" Yuta shouts. This is just downright frustrating. He _should_ be allowed to know, shouldn't he? This is where he works – this is _his_ life – and there must be a damn good reason as to why there's not a single file he can access in regards to what's in Ward 9. Even when he looks at the floor plans, Yuta wonders why there is no labelled department within those four walls. It should be Cardiology or Microbiology or _something_ – anything – but no, it's not. It's nothing. It's just a big, plain area of _nothing_. 

But it's not nothing, is it? If it was nothing, Yuta wouldn't see Dongyoung constantly slipping in and out, holding his tablet and, quite often, looking concerned. Of course, his looking concerned is truly of no consequence. Yuta knows how hard he tries to hide his anxiety, but he's quite terrible at it. What is it? What is _all_ of this? Why are they keeping secrets from staff? 

Dongyoung smiles at Yuta. "If you want me to crack so easily," he says, "you really have to do a better job." With that, he turns on his heels and continues to walk towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. He supposes that following him right now would be pointless, but Yuta won't give up. He'll _never_ give up, not until he knows. 

At this rate, though, he might as well take the risk of being killed by the government. He could give up, yes, and that would be the easy way out of all of this mess – but no, not yet. Dongyoung isn't so wonderfully brave and loyal himself, and Yuta might make him crack. He's not from this galaxy, after all, and therefore Yuta can use that against him.

Or not _against_ him, per se. Just – just in his own favour, let's say.

These thoughts occupy most of Yuta's time – he's a nurse, after all, and although he recognises that his job plays an integral role in the smooth running of the hospital, he also recognises that half of his job is taken up by explaining to patients medical conditions and – well, stuff. How surgery works and _risks_ , et cetera. He administers medicine and stitches up wounds, but no, he has plenty of time to think.

What if he uncovered some great government conspiracy? He'd be revered – and hated, of course – in every corner of the galaxy. It's not particularly tempting, but he might consider it. Maybe. What if he broke into Ward 9? No, that's ridiculous. That's even _more_ ridiculous. Yuta is bad with technology, after all.

More so, his apartment is covered with notes – words, ideas, thoughts. What might Ward 9 be? Experimentation seems the likely explanation, but Yuta can't be too sure. The only other person he trusts to hear his ideas, to _contribute_ ideas, is Jaehyun. Jaehyun, the trainee police pilot with his head permanently in the clouds, is probably the smartest person Yuta knows.

"I wonder," Jaehyun says, "if it's to do with plastic surgery."

"You can get plastic surgery anywhere," Yuta sighs, running his fingers along the paper pinned to the walls. "It can't be to do with that. I don't know. Maybe it's – fuck, I don't know. But it's creepy, isn't it?"

"We all know the government have secrets," Jaehyun states, rolling his eyes, "so why is this one special? I get that you're totally obsessed with it, but come on. It can't be _that_ important!"

"It is," answers Yuta. "It _is_ important, but I don't quite know why yet."

Jaehyun blinks. "That sounds ridiculous, and you know it."

"Yeah, maybe," Yuta says, "but you know how it is. Once my mind is set on something, I have to – fuck, Jaehyun, I don't know." He shrugs his shoulders. "How are you, then? How's _training_?"

Jaehyun smiles, and wraps his fingers around the bottle of beer in his hand. "Oh, you _know_ ," he sighs, "bullshit. But it's easier than trying to get by stealing, which was my other job prospect, so."

"It could work," Yuta says. "Stealing things. If you get good at it, I mean. But the pension is good, working in the police."

"Shut up! Plus, my boss is, like, an asshole times one thousand," Jaehyun complains. " _Jung, you are an incompetent idiot_." He lays back in his chair, then says, " _Your mother should have killed you in the womb_ ," and then, " _when you eventually die on the job due to your inherent idiocy, I'll spit on your corpse and laugh_." 

"Well…" Yuta hums. "It makes Yunho and his incessant need to make me bring him yoghurt, despite not being his secretary, seems a bit less…" He makes a confusing gesture with his hands. "...intense."

Jaehyun smiles. "Jungsoo's got some issues, I'll say that much," he scoffs. "Either way, he's the epitome of what the government is like. One big, terrible, awful asshole with a gun, ready to shoot whenever he wants and _whoever_ he wants." He smiles amicably. "Including _you_ , Yuta. You're not going to get out of it just because you're sexy."

"I'm sexy?"

"Very, _very_ sexy. But the point I'm trying to make is that if you break their laws, you're not going to make it out alive," Jaehyun sighs. "Remember Ten? That jewel thief? We all watched him _die_ , Yuta, on live television. And who the fuck knows where his partner went? The pretty one? I'm sure he had a miserable end, too. Imagine your sister watching you die for a fucking _room_ , man. It's just not worth the risk."

That's true, but what if – what if he _doesn't_ get caught? What if this all works out in Yuta's favour, and he becomes some sort of martyr? It wouldn't hurt his ego, definitely. 

"Plus," Jaehyun adds, "it's one thing _theorising_ , but I don't think I can help you actually – y'know, steal classified information. It's just way too much, Yuta."

"You think I'm going to go too far?" Yuta asks.

"No," he states, "I think you've _already_ gone too far."

**3**

Despite having slept in a comfortable bed for his whole life, Taeil is starting to feel accustomed to the solid surface of his metal bunk and thin sheet. His head hurts every day now, and although he knows he needs more sleep, he can't get it. He's just – in _pain_ , constantly and without end. 

Taeil wonders if eventually, the ache will just become a part of his life. He'll forget what it's like – a pain-free existence, no less – at some point in the future, and the rest of his time here will be spent in agony. Agony beyond human imagination. He's a doctor. He should be able to _fix_ this, but suffering isn't quite so simple – it's _never_ that simple, after all. 

At least his lungs feel comfortingly un-dusty, but he imagines that may soon change with time. Taeil stares at the ceiling above him and wonders about the others who have been here for years. Lucas, alike to Taeil, is new to this specific asteroid, and probably the galaxy itself, too. However, Lucas _is_ used to hard labour, the concept of being a slave itself – unlike Taeil, of course. He's been doing this for years, being tossed about by managers and companies without any rhyme or reason, and Taeil can't imagine the stress. 

Beyond the work, though, Taeil's life outside the mineshaft isn't much to write home about. He is constantly starving, of course, and being at the top of the bunks is worryingly close to being in a truly confined space. Being inside the asteroid itself is stressful on its own, but when they snake down tight holes to access the minerals, Taeil wants to vomit. He desperately wants to squeeze his eyes shut and opt out entirely, but he can't. The first time he tried to get out of doing such a terrifying nightmare, they hit him with a whip just once. A warning, yes, but the pain was enough to force him to obey.

Taeil cannot _stand_ small spaces. Even in the most cavernous parts of the oversized rock's interior, he constantly feels as though he's going to be trapped forever. He imagines slamming his fists against the rock, screaming and crying for help that is never going to come. Eventually, he'd rot away into insignificance, in some faraway system, galaxy, asteroid belt. Whatever. They wouldn't even have a body to bury.

He blinks up at the metal ceiling again, and feels the heavy weight of Lucas' broad frame crawl under the sheets next to him. It's a reassurance, having somebody who _understands_ , even if not fully so, around him at pretty much every given hour. Lucas is warm, which makes a stark contrast to the icy winds that constantly make their unsteady base shake. The thin steel walls aren't built to last – they're temporary, of course, for when they need to be taken down after the minerals have been scraped out from the innards of the asteroid. 

"Hey there," Lucas whispers, and his breath is comfortingly warm against Taeil's neck. "You know, you always look like you're about to shit."

Nice. Really, _really_ nice. "Thanks…?"

"No problemo," Lucas chuckles. A breathy, yet comforting sound in his ear. "I can't believe they put us in different quadrants. We talk too much, I think." When he blinks, his eyelashes flutter against Taeil's cheek. "But we can speak here, and at mealtimes, so it's okay. I like speaking to you. You make me feel like I'm sane."

"Before I came," Taeil says, turning his head on the pillow to face Lucas, "did you have anybody else?"

"Nope. It was just old men, and they don't have hot takes on _anything_ ," Lucas explains, running the pads of his calloused fingers against Taeil's cheek. "So boring. I think the galaxy's changed since they ended up mining, and so it's like they're decades behind everybody else. It's weird. I'm still holding onto hope I'll end up getting moved into some other trade, a little closer to civilisation."

"That happens often?" Taeil asks. He'd simply been assuming that Lucas was very lucky, being tossed around from place to place, and that he simply hadn't found the right opportunity to escape just yet. "Could it happen to me?"

"Man, I dunno," Lucas sighs. "If either of us got moved, I think it'd be –" It'd suck, in short, but it doesn't bear thinking about. "This is why you don't make friends, okay? Friendship gets in the way of work, they think, and they'll make your life miserable. To be honest, we might get moved apart in spite." He pauses, and sucks in a breath. "Taeil, promise me. If you end up getting out of this…" He blinks. "Come back for me, okay? I don't want to die working for some faceless corporation, whether it's mining or not. I need my life to have _some_ purpose, okay?"

"No. No, of course I'd come back for you. And you'd come back for me, too?"

"Yes," Lucas says. "Besides, you'd be useless without me. You can't swing a pickaxe to save your life, Taeil." He turns his head in the other direction, and coughs for about a minute or so. Taeil doesn't count – it makes him feel worse, after all. "I have a plan."

"What kind of plan?"

"To get out," he whispers, so quietly that Taeil can hardly make out what he's saying. "I've had plenty of time to think about it, and it seems obvious." They're in the middle of nowhere, right? No police, no regulations, no _hope_. Nobody to rescue them. The only place the ship goes is to another asteroid. "I need to get the plans of the ship we travel on, but if my suspicions are correct, then –"

The bright, penetrative light of a torch cuts through the darkness of the room. A guard. _Shit_. 

"10145," the guard barks, "get here! _Now_!"

Lucas swallows – Taeil feels the bob of his Adam's apple graze against the skin of his own throat – and climbs out of Taeil's bunk, his hands shaking violently. In the beam, Lucas looks like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, eyes wide and skin pale. 

"I'm sure you've got some excellent explanation as to why you were _fraternising_ with another worker, 10145," the guard snaps, sarcasm thick and heavy upon his accented voice. The number in place of a name is purposeful, and at this point, Taeil has talked to workers who don't even know what they were called beforehand. "I thought I told you I never wanted to see your fucking face again."

Taeil can't look, so he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Sorry, Sir – I just feel so _lonely_." 

"Yeah?" the guard asks, tone softening.

Lucas nods quickly. "Yes, Sir. I just can't stand being alone," he sobs. "It really scares me, especially at night –"

Taeil's eyes snap open when he hears Lucas make a squeaking sound, almost like he's in pain. The guard has the flesh of his ear pinched between two blunt fingers, and Lucas looks positively petrified. "That's no excuse. You know that, _10145_ , but you choose to break the rules anyway? Then again, you've got quite the history of that, haven't you?"

"I – Sir, _please_ ," Lucas begs. Seeing him not smiling is terrifying for Taeil, but he's powerless in this situation. 

"How about I remind you of the time when you tried to slip away to the engine room of the ship?" the guard scowls. "You know what happens when you break the rules, 10145. You're going to solitary."

There's an undercurrent of shock that floods throughout the room, and Taeil can't even imagine –

"Please, Sir!" Lucas shrieks. "I'm sorry!"

The guard doesn't say anything else, just drags Lucas along by the skin of his ear as the inhabitants of the dorm sit in shocked silence, unable to fight back or say anything in defence of Lucas.

Taeil doesn't sleep that night, but it doesn't matter anyway. 

They come for him in the morning, guards with guns strapped to their large, unyielding chests, and drag him away from the sludge on his plate. He wasn't particularly hungry in the first place, but he wishes he'd shovelled it in faster. Solitary confinement is a different system altogether – he doesn't know when or how he'll be fed, after all, and – and –

– the room. The room is cold, dark, and dripping with an unknown liquid. Judging from the smell, it's a fluid that Taeil knows all too well, but putting a name to it somehow makes it feel all the more disgusting. Taeil gags into his hand, momentarily distracted from the worse problem of all – as soon as the lock clicks shut, no word of warning about how long he'll be in here for, he realises how _small_ the room is.

Too small. Way, _way_ too small. Within seconds, Taeil's panic sets in, and he begins to slam his fists against the door, begging to be let out. Nobody comes, and his knuckles are bloody when he decides to finally give up. 

But he's scared. Scared beyond words. His heart is pounding so hard against his lungs that it feels like they're bruising, and his stomach isn't filled with butterflies – it's full of angry, aggrieved wasps.

**4**

"Captain," Dejun says, worriedly. He's got the kind of face that Kun quite clearly recognises – worried, but also scared to tell Kun _why_ he's worried – and it sucks, really, that Dejun constantly lives in a sense of panic. Kun can't exactly say he's different, because he's _not_. He's the human embodiment of anxiety, but he can't exactly go around acting like that.

He's the _captain_. He's in power, after all – he has to be, because he's the only competent person on this entire goddamn ship. Maybe. Tzuyu's starting to look like she's destined for leadership, but, at the moment, it's easier to just be in control.

"Captain, there's a – _blip_. There's a blip," Dejun says, softly, but he might as well have said nothing at all – he doesn't understand what that means, especially when Dejun, despite his tendency to be a nervous wreck, is infinitely better at all this, um, computer-y stuff. Confusing. Very, _very_ confusing. 

Kun might not be good at computers, but he's good at people, can steer his ship decently well, and is the only member of the crew with any real experience of space travel. It works, if only for the time being – after all, it's not like they're _really_ doing anything of importance. Odd jobs. Things to earn a little money – things to pass the _time_ , on top of that.

The ship's a piece of junk, to be honest. If there's a _blip_ , it's probably just a pipe bursting or a fuel leak – it's happened before, and it'll happen again. Eventually, they'll have to pool their credits together and buy something better, bigger, _faster_. 

"Okay," Kun says, turning in his chair, "what's this blip?"

"In the air vents. There's, a, um, thing," Dejun mumbles. "A very – a very _big_ thing. Not an animal, I don't think, or – or a, um, blockage of –"

"Just tell me what it is, Dejun."

He blinks. "I think – I think it's a _person_ , Captain."

"A person?" Kun scoffs. Nobody in their right mind would want to become a stowaway on their ship – no chance. No chance at all. It's a ridiculous theory. Totally and utterly ridiculous. "There's not a person in the vents. They're way too small, and no person could fit in there. A child, maybe."

"Then…" Dejun pauses. "It could be a child. You don't know, and I – I don't know, either. It could be an oversized rat." The thought of that makes Kun's toes curl up, and it's gross to even think about. A human would be a hell of a easier to deal with, honestly. Give them a bit of food, a bed to sleep in, and then drop them off at the nearest planet. Easy come, easy go. 

"We can check," Kun says.

"But I – I don't know –" 

"Fine. I'll do it," Kun sighs, and stands up next to Dejun. "Besides, what's the worst that it could be?"

Dejun is visibly nervous as they approach the engine room, chewing at his lip and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans so that Kun doesn't see how badly they're shaking. And _badly_ means really, truly badly. He feels sick to his stomach, hoping for some freakishly oversized rat and _not_ , under any circumstances, a person.

Dejun doesn't like people. The crew are fine, he supposes, but he still really, _really_ doesn't like people. 

Kun isn't good with engines. He doesn't get them in the same way that Dejun gets them – he breathes for machines, and lives to fix them, too. Honestly, Kun has no clue what half the levers and buttons do on the control desk – half the time, it's Dejun's job to explain what each switch does over and over again, even when he's explained it one million times before – and so when he's surrounded by wheezing cogs and the like, Kun has zero clue what's going on.

But air vents. Kun can understand that – kind of, but not really. Something to do with...Oxygen. Yeah, that sounds about right – or does it? Honestly.

The engine room isn't silent – in fact, there's a bit too much noise for Kun's liking – but there's a profound clunk that comes from behind the wall that doesn't sound like the wheezing, sputtering sounds of machinery surrounding the two of them. Dejun rests his hand on the metal wall – not _hot_ , but not exactly cold either.

When there's another clunk, the wall moves, like something – or someone – is banging against it. Not purposefully, Kun supposes, when the whole ship shifts slightly and tips back. A person would move, too. 

"Can you remove this wall?" Kun asks, running his fingers along the screws of the metal sheet. "Wait. I don't get it…"

With a screwdriver in his hand, Dejun frowns and asks, "Don't get what?"

"Why would anybody want to tag on _this_ ship?" Kun laughs, as Dejun digs his fingernails under the metal to prize the sheet off. Kun kicks the metal wall. "C'mon, rat, I can't wait to see your _teeth_ –"

"My teeth?" the voice asks, as the metal sheet flatters to the ground when Dejun quickly scrambles to Kun's side. On the other side of the metal is a crouched figure, his limbs cramped together, and, true to his word, a familiar shows his teeth. 

He? Maybe. Kun doesn't want to assume, but it dawns upon him where he's seen this face before – this isn't a rat, quite obviously, but this isn't a person that Kun wants on his ship, however junky it is. He's going to die. They're going to _kill_ him for this, aren't they? But – but he's _dead_ –

"Sorry," laughs the man, smiling as he crawls out of the vent, "oh, God. My back was killing me! Hi," he says, breathily, and brushes the bleached hair out of his face, "my name's Ten." He extends a skinny hand out. "And you?"

"Captain, he's dead," Dejun whispers, but it's clear that he's not very good at whispering – Ten slyly raises an eyebrow, and peels off his mock leather jacket. Anything but faux, Kun supposes, just attracts too much attention. For that matter, being executed on live television might have the same effect. 

"Oh, yeah," Ten gasps, dramatically hitting the side of his head with his palm, "forgot about that. Silly me!"

"To be perfectly honest," Kun says, "we all watched you _die_."

"Cheap trick," Ten says, and presses his hands to his lower back, leaning back until his back pops gratifyingly. "Fuck. My chiropractor is going to _kill_ me."

"Again?" Kun gasps. But he _died_. Everybody saw him die – the entirety of the galaxy, probably. He _died_. He fucking died, but he's alive – alive, in the flesh and blood. More than that, if he's alive, Kun is harbouring a fugitive. Somebody who not only _broke_ intergalactic laws but said _fuck you_ to the entire concept of government itself. He died for his cause.

A martyr. A jewel thief, yes, but a martyr all the same. 

"Where's your partner, then?" Kun asks. It's strange – he hardly even remembers his name or his face. Why can't he remember that? He should be able to, but he can't for the life of him. All Kun knows is that, somewhere in the equation, there was a partner. 

Ten blinks. "Taeyong?"

"That's the one," Kun says, but he still can't recall the guy's face. Why make such a fuss over killing Ten live but not _Taeyong_? Maybe he didn't get the death penalty, but – _fuck_ , isn't it odd? Why doesn't Ten look even the slightest bit upset? 

"Oh, he's out there," Ten says, dreamily, "and, now that you remind me, you're gonna help me find him." Ten's hands are pressed against his back. 

"Yeah, no can do," Kun laughs, nervously. "I don't do dirty jobs. Besides, the government will kill me _and_ my crew if anybody finds out you're on this ship." 

Ten's hand snakes down the back pocket of his denim jeans, and he retrieves a small, compact blaster. A blaster that is, at this current moment in time, in Kun's face. 

"Give me a reason not to kill you," Ten states, and flashes the gun in Dejun's face, too, for dramatic measure. "And this cutie right here, too."

"I'm going to help you," Kun replies, almost robotically. "I'm going to help you find Taeyong, and you're not going to kill me _or_ the cutie, thanks."

Ten smiles with full teeth, and then exclaims, "You're stellar!" He runs his eyes over Kun's body, making it _quite_ clear what he thinks of his appearance, and smirks. "What do I call you? Captain? Sir? Maybe you'd like to be called cutie, too? If the shoe fits."

"You can call me Kun," he says, gently, and gestures towards Dejun. "This is my right-hand man. Kind of. His name is Dejun." The younger nods quickly in response, but hasn't said a single world to Ten yet. "But this isn't going to work in the way you think it is. I have some very basic ground rules that I expect you to follow, whether I'm helping you find your friend or not."

"Gotcha," Ten exclaims.

"Number one," Kun says, "you are _not_ leaving this ship. Not at any port. Not for _anything_. I don't want to end up connected to you in any way, shape or form. Number two, you can't threaten my crew with a gun. I'm not losing another crew member under any circumstances." Dejun winces by his side. "Actually, if you want my help, you give me your gun. Now. Do you think we don't have weapons?"

Ten shrugs, and hands Kun the gun without question. "It hasn't got any power, anyway," he sighs. "You lost a crew member?"

Kun ignores this, and promptly moves on. "Number three, when we find your friend, you are _never_ allowed to tell anybody that I helped you," Kun says. "I'm helping you because I feel sorry for you, not because I condone theft." 

Not that Kun actively is _against_ it, of course, but Ten doesn't have to know that.

"You feel _sorry_ for me?" Ten scoffs. "Why's that?"

"Because you didn't deserve to die," Kun says, "or… _not_. You were shot! Sorry, I'm still a bit hung up on that bit."

Ten smiles. "Help me out, _cutie_ ," he laughs, winking delicately, "and I'll tell you _all_ my secrets."


	2. Chapter 2

**1**

Taeil hates the dark, but he hates small places plenty more. If the quarters where the solitary confinement cage were even a decibel quieter, he would panic all the more – he doesn't like feel like he's cut off forever.

He can't even count how many days he's been in here. They feed him in every seven to eight hours – his rough estimate, but he can't calculate it – and for that, he's _always_ starving. Taeil has touched every grimy inch of the walls around him, examined the entire room on repeated occasions, but for no reason at all. He can't get out of this room, and his chest is constantly heaving, breathing in and out with anxiety laced in each exhalation. Taeil bangs at the door once in a while, just to test how sorry they'll feel for him, but it's pretty much always ineffective.

When they finally take Taeil out, dragging him out by his trembling forearms, too weak and scared to fight back from their grip, he doesn't know how long he's been in the confinement chamber. His stomach has been completely empty for days, so it _feels_ like it's been months, but he tries to calm himself down by insisting to himself that it must have been at least less than a month. 

Not wanting to test his luck, Taeil doesn't ask. He doesn't even ask when they drag him in a completely opposite way from the entrance of the bunks and the mineshaft lift, though his head is buzzing with endless questions. What the fuck? Are they going to _kill_ him? Maybe they were hoping that he'd die and so they'd avoid the paperwork, but – _God_ , they're going to kill him. They'll throw him off the asteroid and –

Instead, they drag him up the rickety stairs leading up to the entrance of the transportation ship. It's not _death_ , but what if he's completely separate from Lucas? Taeil can't imagine being completely alone for years, and he'll be damned if he ever finds somebody as sunshiney as Lucas. Everybody here is rightfully miserable, and while Lucas' unfiltered light sometimes hurts to look at, it brings a strange sense of hope in Taeil's rather bland existence.

One thing is for certain, though. He's so, so fucking glad to not be stuck in that damp little cage – well, until the damp cage on the base is replaced with a metal cage _on_ the ship, the door slamming shut behind him before he even realises what's happening. 

There's not a bed in sight, just four plain sheets of metal surrounding him – Taeil doesn't know what's _happening_. The world could pass him by in a place like this and he'd never even know. 

Fuck. He might _die_ in here. Taeil wonders why his brain keeps immediately going to death, but his situation doesn't exactly harbour positive thoughts.

He runs his fingers up to the light box in the ceiling, glowing dimly, and down to the small grate in the bottom of the wall. Right. Right, how does he get out?

There's a rectangle upon the ceiling, slightly raised from the surface that Taeil supposes could be some sort of exit if he could only garner the upper body strength to pull himself upwards, _and_ if he could remove the sheet in the first place. He doesn't have a screwdriver to prise it open, so settles for the blunt ends of his fingernails, and, within seconds, Taeil realises how stupid an endeavour this is. They're not so moronic to put him up a room with an exit, are they? 

Besides, he'd only be escaping into a different part of the ship where they'd catch him and punish him for disobeying. Fuck. "What's the fucking _point_ ," Taeil deadpans.

"Taeil?" he hears, floating in from the grate near his feet. "Taeil, is that you?"

"Lucas?" he asks, excitedly, pressing his hand against the cold wall as though he was touching the other instead. He crouches next to the grate and says, "I missed you so bad, Lucas."

"I would usually love to have a reunion, Taeil, but right now, I need your trust, okay?" Lucas asks, softly. "I was going – if I couldn't find you, I was just going to do this. But I need you to trust me, and we can do this together, okay?"

Taeil doesn't know what he's talking about, but he listens intently.

"Follow my instructions as best you can, okay?" Lucas asks, and Taeil reminds him of his faithfulness by saying _yes_ , a little over-excitedly. "See the rectangle on the ceiling? It's a covering, okay, for a vent." Taeil hums in acknowledgement. "It's a magnetic seal, okay, but it's kind of shitty, okay?"

"Like everything on his ship," Taeil scoffs.

"Exactly," Lucas says. "Get your hands on both of the short sides and just _pull_ , okay. You have to do it with both, though." Taeil follows his instructions exactly and, with a little bit of strength, the metal guard comes off with a satisfying _pop_. Taeil, however, really does not like the look of what is above him. "Taeil, don't be scared. It's not a very long vent, and I'm sure it can't be _that_ small, okay?"

"Lucas," he mutters, nervously, "where does this lead to, anyway? Won't it just be to another part of the ship?"

Lucas makes an odd noise, but Taeil doesn't have any clue what it means. "...Yeah, that's kinda the idea," he sighs. "Taeil, when I say you need to trust me, you need to _trust_ me. Because I'm not one hundred percent that this will work, but the odds are in our favour, so. Take a deep breath, 'cos I'm not sure how I'll easily be able to speak to you after this."

"Okay," Taeil says, but his lungs feel like they're fluttering nervously in the cavity of his chest. 

"You okay? Right, if I'm correct, these vents go over the entire ship, with different plates for different rooms," Lucas explains. "I used them to get to the engine room last time, and the only reason I got caught is because I opened the wrong gate and a guard saw me, okay? Anyway, at the end of the ship, there's a deadlock sealed area where the escape pods are located. Only guards can access these, of course, in case something goes wrong and they have to abandon everything, including _thousands_ of people." Taeil blinks off that terrifying notion, and is comforted by the idea that, by the end of this, he may well be free. He trusts Lucas fully, after all. "Anyway, they didn't deadlock these air vents."

"So they gave us the advantage?" Taeil asks. "But isn't it too easy? The vents are essentially just _here_ , aren't they?" 

"I thought about that," Lucas says, "and I guess what it comes down to is that most of these old fucks haven't got the guts for this. Not like us. Besides, I know the layout of the ship pretty well. I've got a good memory for these things, and I can figure out where the prohibited sector is."

"But what if I can't hear you?" he questions. "How will I know where to go?"

"It's the very last grate, okay?" Lucas says. "Follow the path, and you'll find it. I did a few mental calculations and, judging by my knowledge of these repurposed Cruiseliners, possibly either…" He pauses to think. "Mark 67 or 68, the escape pods are located at the very end of the ship."

"So…" Taeil says. "I trust you."

"Great," Lucas says, "and remember – deep breaths, okay?" His speech is cut off by a coughing fit that sounds heavy and painful for the lungs, but he quickly speaks again once it's done. "I'm going to be right there with you."

Taeil pulls himself up with a little difficulty, but his hunger-induced weakness is nothing compared to his will to escape all of this right now. The tunnel is just as bad as Taeil supposes it would be – dark, seemingly endless and _tight_. He isn't particularly large as a person, but he's just so squished in-between the walls. With Lucas' broad shoulders, he wonders how the younger is fairing. 

Still, though. He understands what Lucas meant about different grates – about every few metres or so, a grate breaks the smooth metal floor of the vent, signifying different rooms. He can't hear Lucas, though, and that concerns him greatly. End of the corridor. Right. Okay, he can do that. His rough uniform chafes at his thighs endlessly as he crawls, but it'll be worth it, right? Yes, definitely. Without a doubt.

By the time he's at the end of the corridor, Taeil whispers a small _Lucas_ just to see if he's in the right place. Of course, without making a large amount of ruckus _above_ the heads of guards, he can't get Lucas' attention quite so easily. He pushes the grate down, hoping for it to not to make such a clatter when it hit the ground. He waits for a second before seeing a guard with a gun pointing upwards. Fuck.

"If you don't come down from there right now, motherfucker, I'm going to cut your legs off so you'll never be able to get away again!"

Taeil crawls back, and the bullet from the gun makes a strange whistling sound as it cuts through the heavily processed air of the ship and slams into the metal ceiling, deforming the metal around it.

Taeil hears a rustling from the air vent next to his own, and makes out a distorted, "Go back one!" 

Lucas better be right. Taeil is _not_ getting shot today, no thanks, or having his legs cut off. He rather needs them – though prosthetics have come quite a long way, of course, he much prefers his _own_ limbs, thanks. He crawls back, which is surprisingly difficult given how much space he has, and pushes down on the penultimate grate just as he hears an announcement echoing throughout the rickety innards of the ship.

He pushes the grate down, and no guard immediately comes, so he waits for a second. After a few moments, he sees Lucas standing below him, gesturing for him to come down without making much sound at all. He looks, quite frankly, _very_ insistent. 

Taeil decides _fuck it_ , and falls down onto the ground. His calves decide they hate him for this, and reply with agonising pain. Remind him never to fall down onto solid steel again.

True to his word, though, in the room, there are six equally-sized escape pods with the names of the guards assigned to them etched onto metal sheets beside the entrances. Lucas immediately runs to one as he hears the frantic knocking on the outside doors from both sides, and Taeil _prays_ that it takes them a good fucking second to crack the deadlock seal.

"Don't worry," Lucas says. "It's trivia questions. Speaking of," he hums, gesturing towards the key panel next to the oversized hexagonal door of the almost spherical escape pod, sizeable enough to fit about six or so people, "what's the Crown Prince Taemin's birthday?"

"Uh…" Shit, shit, _shit_. He should be able to remember this! Everybody knows this, right? "The eighteenth of June…" He pauses. "No, fuck, July. Wait, is it in that system? Fuck. Just put it in anyway, I'm sure –"

"I need a year," Lucas says, voice a little panicked around the edges. 

"Oh, fuck!" Taeil shouts. "4993. If that's wrong, we're fucked."

The lock of the door eases open with a slight hiss of air, and the two quickly climb inside just as the deadlocked door is finally pushed open. Taeil slams the door shot, but the guards immediately begin to fire at the see-through door. Nothing happens, but Taeil still squeezes his eyes shut. 

Before he even knows it, the escape pod jettisons with a profound clunk, and Lucas shakes his shoulders as they float away from the ship, slowly but surely. He shakes the older's shoulders and cries, "Taeil, we did it! We've gotten _away_!"

"Fuck me," Taeil mutters, under his breath. "Huh. What's with the trivia thing? I thought we were going to die because I didn't know when some stuck-up brat came out of the womb."

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Man, I dunno. I was kind of counting on them people being total imbeciles and not knowing shit," he laughs, and rests his hand on Taeil's shoulder. "At least this pod's roomy. We might be on here for a while."

"What? How long?" The space is not _preferable_ for Taeil, let's say, and although it isn't small, he doesn't want to die in such a small space. When the idea of it being a while crosses his mind, the space seems to almost shrink in size and suffocate him. "Is there enough oxygen for a long journey?"

"There's enough oxygen for six people for starters, and they've probably got a large supply each on top of that," Lucas explains. "It wouldn't do if an escape pod showed up and everybody inside was dead." That could happen? Taeil presses against the see-through entrance, and glances at the ugly metal establishments built upon a naturally stunning asteroid belt. The stars in the sky have never shimmered quite so brightly. "Besides, we'll be fine."

"I suppose," Taeil sighs, "that I'd rather die trying to escape than otherwise."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I suppose so," Lucas agrees, and reaches for Taeil's hand to squeeze it. "We'll be okay. I know it."

"I hope so," Taeil whispers, and Lucas leans against Taeil, putting his face in the crook of Taeil's neck and breathing warmly. "I really do."

**2**

"Captain?" Sicheng says, looking as though he just woke up – well, if his swollen eyes and mussed hair mean anything at all – and immediately points his blaster at Ten. "Who the fuck is that?"

"I'm Ten," he says, casually, and Sicheng's face turns completely white. "Hey, Kun, do you pick your crew based on hotness, 'cos from what I'm seeing –"

"Put your hands up!" Sicheng snaps. "Captain, what the fuck?"

Kun sighs, and rubs at his eyes. This is giving him a godawful headache – he's used to stress, but not _this_ type of stress. Sicheng is, more often than not, completely quiet, but not now. Kun understands his crew well, and he understands that Sicheng is overly tetchy right now. He doesn't really shout all that often, so Kun supposes that he really, _really_ is on edge. 

"No, put your blaster down," sighs Kun. "He's fine. He can be here, I don't mind." Sicheng drowns, but does what he's told, placing the blaster back into the holster but with his hand still remaining on his hip. "So, then. Are you going to explain how there's a dead man on our ship?"

"I – I _could_ do that, yes," Kun states, "um, this is Ten. He's not dead. He's looking for his partner." A gross oversimplification, but it works for now. "We're going to help him."

Sicheng scowls. "No way, Sir. We're not harbouring a fugitive on this ship," he states, coldly. "Personally, I'm against killing him, but we're not _helping_ him. What do we get out of it, anyway?" Mm, yes. Apart from pity, why _is_ Kun helping him? After all, it isn't like he's holding Kun at gunpoint – his blaster didn't even _work_. "Exactly. What's the point? If you wanted money, you could hand him over to the cops."

"Are you kidding? They'd obviously think he's a clone or something," Kun says, "and then we'd be in for it. No, I think we should…" 

Honestly, he doesn't even know. The amount of trouble this could get everybody in probably isn't worth the risk. Besides, the galaxy is _giant_ – if they don't know where to look, finding Ten's partner is just a pipe dream. The only real reason Kun considered this in the first place was because Ten was holding a gun – oh, and he's hot. Really.

"If you'd let me speak," Ten says, "then I can explain to you _why_ you should help me."

"Go ahead," Sicheng says, warily, but his fingers are twitching above his blaster. Kun nods enthusiastically at Ten, and Dejun just looks plain concerned. In a way, Dejun represents the amalgamation of their concerns in regards to Ten – hot, yet utterly terrifying, Ten. 

Ten smiles. "I've got money."

"Yeah. So do we," Kun says, completing the words that were about to spill out of Sicheng's mouth.

"As if. No offense, but your ship's garbage," Ten scoffs. "I'm not strictly a jewel thief, per se. I just do the jobs that any employer will give me – usually, that's theft. A misconception about me is that I go for diamonds and rubies and the like, but I'm a multifaceted guy." He shrugs, and then adds, "I like money, too, and for that, I've got a lot of it. I have a friend who lives on Sangpota who keeps my stash safe for me – basically decodes where the credits came from, let's say – and I pay him, like, five percent off the top."

"Get to the point," Sicheng says.

"Anyway, your ship is awful. An old model. I can get you a new one – my _friend_ is awful good with numbers, see, and we can pretend some distant family member of yours died and left a fuck ton of money," Ten explains. "Something with machines that don't make _that_ noise, 'cos that ain't good." 

"I thought the squeaking was normal," Kun mumbles. Dejun shakes his head quickly, but he's too polite to actually complain. "How much are we talking?"

"I can get you…" Ten hums. "...uh, how does a million credits sound? That'll be enough to get something good, I think. Last time I bought a ship was technically a dare, but I think the newest models of Cruiseliners go for a little under that amount. The rest can go on whatever you want – holidays, guns, whatever you want." 

"Fuck, man," Sicheng says, "that is a lot, Captain."

What a redundant statement. Kun knows damn well how much that is, and it makes it really hard to believe. But the press did make out like Ten was some kind of _amazing_ thief, and having big bucks tends to go hand-in-hand with that profession. 

But a _million_? Surely not, right? "Though I'm inclined to believe you," Kun says, not choosing to make doubting people a habit, " _some_ people may not, so how are you gonna prove this? Could be a bluff."

Ten deadpans, "You need to take my word, obviously."

"Nah," Sicheng says, "this guy's a joke, Captain. Coming back from the dead, right? I bet it's some kind of test to prove our loyalty to the government. Maybe it's some kind of clone."

" _He_ is not a government test, thank you very much," Ten spits, "and you've got a lot of gall for somebody so skinny."

"Coming from you?" Sicheng laughs.

"Yeah, coming from me," Ten snaps back, "and if that's what you really think of me, I know I'm wasting my time. I should have picked some other ship to hide on, because you're just being utter bastards. Can I have my gun back?"

"No," Kun says, "because you're staying."

"And _you're_ making that decision for me, Kun?" Ten laughs. 

"Yes," Kun states, "because as long as you're on this ship, I'm your _captain_ , and I make the decisions."

Sicheng scowls. "You're just doing this because of Kunhang, aren't you? Think straight, Captain," he snaps. "You're letting some guy walk all over you because you think this will make things better? You think that all is forgiven if you do this, don't you? After all, you are _helping_ somebody, huh?" He points his blaster back at Ten. "You're good, I'll give you that. Coming back from the dead _and_ conning people still – damn, you really haven't learned your lesson, right? But Ten, you're greedy. I'm sorry about your partner, but that's too bad."

"You don't make the rules, Sicheng," Kun says, calmly, "so please put the gun down, okay? And I – I know how this seems, I truly do, but if it helps my conscience, I'll do it. Think of a fate worse than death, and it's probably what Taeyong is going through right now. The Government are unforgivable bastards, so think of this as our own quiet revolution. They took your _family_ , Sicheng – have you forgotten that? Don't you want to do _something_ , anything, back?"

"I'm not looking for revenge," Sicheng says, quietly. "I'm looking for justice, and this isn't it. Stealing precious heirlooms from people isn't justified."

"For fuck's sake," Ten spits, "they weren't precious heirlooms. Do you really _care_ about me stealing from the Crown Prince, or do you just not like me? I notice you're going against your captain's orders – the gun is still in my face, asshole." Kun notes the hypocrisy, but keeps that quietly to himself. "I didn't care about his diamonds, not _really_. It's easier to say that's what I wanted than admitting what he actually has. The public don't need to know about that, right? If they did, they'd freak, and therefore I'm Ten, the prolific _jewel_ thief. As if."

"What were you really trying to steal, then? Money?" Sicheng asks, and lowers the gun slightly, curious to hear his answer. "If so, it's really not that much better."

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

Sicheng sighs. "No. I wouldn't."

Kun turns to Ten. "I would."

"Something people have been talking about for years, but on the down-low, of course," Ten comments. "At first, I didn't think it was real – but it is, it _really_ is. It doesn't have a proper name yet – they're not flogging it off as some convenient commodity, and they never will – but it's some sort of amniotic fluid. People refer to it as _Angel Cream_ , but I think that sounds oddly dirty, don't you?"

"Amniotic fluid?" Kun asks. "Isn't that what babies grow in?"

"Yep, exactly. Although I don't really know what it is, so there's a likely chance it's more complicated than just that," Ten says. "It keeps people young, and heals serious injuries in seconds. I've seen it myself, Kun. When I heard that the Prince had some, I got over-excited and wasn't careful enough when I tried to steal it." He stares down at the floor. "I dragged Taeyong into it. He didn't even want to go – said it was a lie, a _trap_ , and that it'd only get us both killed. I didn't listen, of course." Smiling at Kun, he asks, "The Prince has looked the same age for decades, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," Kun says.

"It's the _cream_ ," Ten emphasises, "and I was stupid, so I wanted it. Look where that got me, huh?"

"Dead, and without a partner," Sicheng says, unhelpfully. "Or _not_ dead, whatever. Are you a zombie? I'm still clinging onto the clone theory, honestly."

"Clones don't exist," Dejun says, "obviously. That technology is far too advanced. The cream, though, could make sense. But why wouldn't they want to sell it? Anti-aging products are all the rage, and I'm sure healing wounds could come in handy during wars."

Ten shrugs. "It's beyond me, kid," he groans, "beyond all of us, actually. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Taeyong and I got caught. They wanted to make an example of me, so I was shot. Repeatedly. Funny thing is, I've got a nasty habit of not staying dead."

"What? This has happened before?" Kun asks. "How? I mean, you _look_ human."

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I imagine that could be a little confusing for you, but it's true," Ten says, "that I can't die. Or maybe I can, but you'd have to cremate me or chop my body up and leave the parts on different planets."

"Don't give me any ideas," Sicheng says, but he returns his blaster to where it comfortably sits against his hip bone. "Your partner, Taeyong. They could have killed him too, but didn't. Lucky him."

"I'm not sure about that," Ten sighs. "I managed to watch my own death, some of the news reports around it, and they hardly mentioned him." He bites his lip. "They didn't show his face, either."

"Isn't that funny?" Kun asks. "Makes me think he might serve some ulterior purpose. They could be torturing him."

Ten looks aghast. "Wow, dude. Way to make me feel better."

"Sorry," Kun apologises. "I'm in. If you're not, Sicheng, I can drop you off on the next planet we pass."

"No, I – this is a democracy. We should ask the crew," Sicheng suggests, and Kun agrees almost instantly. If anybody is going to want to do this, it's Tzuyu. She's been looking for ways to prove herself for months, and Kun feels slightly guilty that they've mainly been finding lost pets and carrying produce for the past few months – nothing that requires true initiative, not _really_. She's good, but what use is good if she can't prove it? Maybe, just maybe, this is her opportunity. He just has to convince her of that.

Jieqiong and Yangyang, however, never require much convincing at all. Kun supposes they're just happy to be here – to _belong_ to something, whatever that something is. Given where they came from, this doesn't surprise Kun in the slightest.

"Oh, my _God_ ," Yangyang exclaims when he sees Ten, and immediately runs over with his fingers outstretched, indicating that he wants to touch Ten. "May I?" Ten nods, but gives Kun a funny look that suggests he doesn't quite get why Yangyang is stroking his skin like one may do to the fur – or scales – of a pet. 

"We've been working on boundaries," Kun sighs, exasperated, "but Yangyang doesn't quite...get them."

"Gotcha," Ten laughs, "so you're Yangyang, huh?"

"This is, um, Jieqiong and Tzuyu," Kun introduces, "and, um, this is Ten. We're gonna be helping him find his friend."

"Not robbing a bank?" Tzuyu says, softly. "Sure. We can work with that, _Ten_."

"If she's in, I'm in," Jieqiong agrees. "But didn't you die?"

Ten rolls his eyes. This is going to be a long, _long_ cycle.

**3**

Taeil expects the journey to be long and arduous, especially considering they didn't have the opportunity to bring food with them, but it's pretty much over before it even started.

At first, Taeil is completely convinced that the Company just picked them back up with some sort of gravity _thing_ – Lucas gave it a proper name, but Taeil is too thirsty and hungry _and_ freaked out by the lack of breathing room to listen properly. Fuck. Fuck this, he thinks, until Lucas lets out a shaky breath of relief.

It's not the Company, though. It can't be. "No way they'd waste resources pulling us back in," he sighs, "and no way they even have those resources to begin with. Like I said – shitty ship, shitty people."

"Got it," mumbles Taeil, but it isn't much of a comfort. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. Lucas could be wrong, or – or maybe, um –

Taeil only opens his eyes when he hears the unmistakable sound of a fist slamming against the door of the escape pod. At first, he thinks that it has to be Lucas – well, who else would it be – but it's not. It's a man in a dark blue, yet incredibly sleek, uniform, pressed to perfection, that makes Lucas like he's going to piss his pants.

He doesn't know what's happening. He really doesn't know what's happening. 

Taeil feels really sick, but it's fine. It has to be fine because Lucas is gripping onto his arm and saying _be cool, be cool_ – what else? Be cool? He has to be cool. Being cool, however, is not easy when there's a man banging on the door and shouting, "Open up, motherfucker!"

Motherfucker. Mother of all fucks. 

Lucas opens the door nervously, his hands twitching like an electric current is going through him. "Taeil, be cool," and Taeil is _starting_ to feel like Lucas should practice what he preaches, because he is not – in any way – being cool. "Have you ever been arrested before?"

Taeil blinks. "No. Why?"

The door opens with a crack and a fizz. "There's a first time for everything," Lucas mutters.

And there's a gun in Taeil's face! Wow. Brilliant. How energizing is _this_ day? It's like being in a fun action movie but you're constantly scared shirtless and you might die at any second, so very much like an action movie but without the proposed _fun_. Gun, face, fuck.

Not fuck his face with a gun, but…

The point still stands. "I'm sorry," Taeil says, automatically, with his hands in the air without a second thought. "I'm sorry. I didn't think – wait, I haven't done anything!"

The gun is still in his face. The man frowns at him, scanning up and down, and his gun doesn't move. 

"My name is Moon Taeil. I was kidnapped – God, I'm a doctor!" he gushes, nervously. "This is Lucas! Man, I'm so glad you found us, but – why the gun?" 

The man almost laughs. "Illegal work," he explains, "is _illegal_ , dumbass."

"Don't call him a dumbass!" Lucas shouts. "He didn't know –"

"Know what?" Taeil asks.

"Not only have you stolen an escape pod from Tanta Corp," he snaps, "but you've been working illegally in this system."

"How do you know that?" Lucas asks. 

The man snorts. He's rough-looking, with stubble lining the bottom half of his tanned skin, and has a slicked back hairstyle. Taeil only just notices his name tag when a man comes behind him and Lucas, wrapping handcuffs tightly around their wrists with no consideration for how tight the thick electronic bands are – _Choi Siwon_ , prize asshole. 

"Do you have any ID?" Siwon scoffs.

"No, but –" Lucas looks at him, almost begging him to stop talking with his eyes. 

"So you're illegal," Siwon drawls, like Taeil is stupid. He's not stupid, he's – he's _desperate_ , really. Even if he's being arrested, Taeil knows that this isn't his fault, but – somehow he feels guilty. Somehow, he feels like all of this is fault. If only he could get this man to, in some way, contact his family and his lawyer and – fuck, this might all come to an end.

Taeil will be a doctor within days – or at least he'll be safe and warm and happy. Along with Lucas, of course, this is going to _stop_. He'll sue Tanta Corp, reclaim his full freedoms, and Lucas will achieve his dream of travelling the stars.

"Please," Taeil says, "I need to speak to my lawyer."

Siwon rolls his eyes. "Huh? You've got a lawyer? That's cute," he chuckles. "Nah. I'm in a bad mood today, so how's about you go to your cell and get the fuck out of my hair?" What? How is this _legal_? Taeil has rights –

Before he can argue back, though, Taeil and Lucas are carted off through rows and rows of prison cells. What kind of ship is this? Prisons are like this in this galaxy? Will they be stuck here forever? When will they get sentenced? Why is this – why is this so unfair? Why won't Siwon let Taeil speak to his lawyer?

The cell that they're shoved into is dark, but considerably more spacious than the tiny spaces Taeil has been squeezed into nowadays. God. Anything is better than the air vents. Literally _anything_. There's nobody else in this row, and it's eerily quiet when the lock of the door clicks shut.

Nothing. They're giving them fucking _nothing_. Hardly any explanation for fucking _anything_ –

Lucas crawls into the corner of the room, looking completely defeated. All that the room has to offer is two beds, a little sliding contraption attached to the door – for food, perhaps – and a light strip attached to the ceiling. Taeil bangs at the sliding door and tries to shout, but his throat feels sore. Besides, it worries Taeil that Lucas isn't doing anything – he's so confident, so _strong_ , but frankly just seems exhausted at this point. 

Taeil smiles at him gently. "Are you feeling okay, Lucas?"

Lucas can barely climb into his bed, so Taeil tries to use his strength to help him onto the cold metal slab with a thin sheet on top. He's sweating all over and looks as pale as a ghost – fuck, _no_. No. No, no, no! What the fuck is Taeil supposed to do when he has no medicine? He could ask, but the bastards behind the door are choosing to be cruel motherfuckers – no, Taeil has to do this _himself_. Isn't there a medical bay? If this is a prison, there has to be a medical bay. If Taeil can convince the guard that hopefully will bring them food that Lucas is sick, maybe he'll be taken there, and – and – no, that's just not realistic. 

Nothing about this feels right. "Lucas, you should sleep," Taeil says, stroking the younger's hair as his perches on the edge of the bed. It probably won't do much, but sleeping can't hurt, right? "We'll figure this out, Lucas. I have a lawyer." Well – his family has a lawyer. If his dad isn't choosing to be an asshole, he'll pay for her services – Taeil probably doesn't have that many credits to his name as of now, so. 

Taeil wants to vomit, but he tries to relax himself by running his fingers through Lucas' soft hair. This is all so, so wrong. When Taeil was a child, the thought of prison was such a terrifying idea – the moon was no useful as just a commodity to stare at, and so there were establishments built to store masses upon masses of criminals. He was so scared of that idea – being locked in a cage, that is. Having his freedom taken away. Being _trapped_.

As soon as he understood the concept of punishment, Taeil was _always_ good as a child. He followed the school rules, avoided the children who offered him cigarettes in high school, and avoided underage drinking for all his worth. He helped his father with the cooking and helped his sister with her homework, studying hard every night for fear that somebody would drag him away in the night if he was bad. 

Taeil is _not_ bad, not now and not ever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a general note, i will update this story a bit less frequently than beforehand because ive got some pretty important exams coming up. maybe that'll help the suspense a bit, idk. 
> 
> please enjoy!!!

**1**

"The Felinus Galaxy has over one hundred unique differently planets with drastically different climates, cultures and languages – in the farthest corners of the galaxy, some isolated communities don't even speak Common," Kun explains, "and not to mention that there are trillions of inhabitants, of course."

Ten blinks, and says, "Yeah, I get that, but Taeyong's smart. If he's free, he'll have gone somewhere he knows I'll find him." He frowns. "I know he's alive, though." The possibility that he was dead had crossed Kun's mind, but he doesn't really know how to broach that sort of talk with somebody he's unfamiliar with. "I wonder what the Government wanted with him, anyway. He'd never tell them _anything_ , not even if they tortured him for days or – look, we should start with Sangpota."

Tzuyu winces. "I get that you love this dude or whatever," she sighs, running her fingers along the star map on the control panel screen, "but that's a long journey, and Sangpota isn't…" Ten gets it. He really does. Sangpota is _interesting_ , he supposes, but not in a good way. "Captain, have you ever been?"

Kun shakes his head, and views the estimated journey length on the screen – nine cycles, and that's not including stopping for fuel or food or to stretch their legs out of sheer boredom. Including all those extras, eleven cycles. Well, that's brilliant. And judging by Tzuyu's tone, it's not as though they'll be going anywhere remarkable. Anything but.

"What's it like?" Kun asks. Tzuyu looks a little uncomfortable at such a question, but doesn't say anything. "Oh, come _on_. Nowhere is _that_ bad. Look, the readings aren't so bad. Good oxygen percentage in the air. Gravity, yada yada, it's all good. So what is it?"

"Well…" Tzuyu hums. "From what I remember, my friend and I were taken there to work in – to work in some kind of, um, café? But it wasn't a café, obviously." She wraps her arms around her stomach. "I needed money at the time, so I just went with it. I was there for about a year, and the whole planet – well, the cities are worse. Dens of iniquity. Drugs, prostitution, murder. Total anarchy." She sighs. "But in the countryside, the planet produces masses of rice – something hard to grow anywhere else. They have the right conditions, you see, and therefore…" 

"... _therefore_ the police let them do what they want," Ten completes.

"Yeah," Tzuyu agrees, nodding, "and that's why in Sangpota, anything goes. It's not like the police are some kind of great organisation, though. They'll do anything to mop up the masses that make the Government look bad, even if that means breaking their oath to serve and protect – whatever _that_ means. That kind of seems like outdated bullshit, because I've never met a single policeman who held them values. Anyway, you don't wanna go to Sangpota."

"Yeah, I know," says Ten, "but I know my way around all the bars and – well, Taeyong and I think alike. If he was going to go anywhere on Sangpota, he'd go to stay with Johnny." Ten smiles to himself. "Johnny, my friend – the one with my money. While we're there, I can give you a deposit, to prove to you how serious I am, if we don't find Yong. If we do, you get the full amount." 

"Sounds fair," Kun says. "Tzuyu, if it worries you, you don't have to get off the ship." 

"No, Captain. There's something I want to do there, and I doubt staying on the ship would get it done," Tzuyu announces. "The route's plotted."

"Then let's go," Kun says. "I hope you're ready for a long trip, Ten. We – we have supplies for seven, so don't worry." Kun bites his lip, and meets Ten's gaze.

Tzuyu nods understandingly at Kun and the engines rumble beneath them as the ship reverts its original path to Yanai – nothing important, not really – to the opposite direction towards Sangpota. According to Tzuyu, they have enough fuel to last almost the full journey, but just in case of disaster, they should stop off to refuel. Kun doesn't like doing this off-hand, doesn't like how quickly plans have changed, but it's fine. They've done things like this before, completely unplanned, and it's almost always worked out in their favour.

Without saying anything else, Tzuyu leaves the room clutching her tablet – she understands, more than anything else, when people want – _need_ – to be alone together. It's fairly fucking obvious, she thinks. 

"While you're here, Ten, do you want to tell me…" He hums nervously. "You and Taeyong…"

Ten laughs, outright. "No, no. It's not like that! We're just close friends," he says. "My _best_ friend, in fact. We grew up together. Practically attached at the hip, I mean. Hungry and scared and angry. It's funny," he sighs, leaning back in the chair of the control panel, "but now that I'm without him, it feels like something's missing. I'm not used to it. You know, it's like…" He pauses. "Even in the smallest of moments, I turn to my side, expecting to see him there. Expecting him to say something."

"And since you're so close," Kun states, "that's how you know he's not dead, right?"

"Exactly. I always thought _I'd_ know, and I haven't felt anything," Ten explains. "Kun, Taeyong means the world to me – and you, for helping me, are the same. More than money, I owe you…" Honestly, Ten isn't quite sure. It's just – something. "...I owe you…"

"The money is fine, honestly. I've been kind of – poor, let's say, for a while now." Kun shrugs in his chair. Even that is incredibly uncomfortable – lumpy, definitely, and hard. "It's important. Money, I mean. But you…" He wonders how best to phrase this. "You must have grown up poor. That's how you get good at stealing shit, right?"

"Got it." Ten brushes strands of his hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, it's fucked up, but I like it. I _started_ liking it, I mean, when I was a teenager. The rush. The adrenaline. I don't think Taeyong was ever fond of the process, but he always did it for me. Often without question. I guess…" He sighs. "He's just too _nice_ , which nobody would believe 'coz he's a thief, but I know. Anyway, we only ever stole from people who could take the hit. A million credits doesn't matter to a tycoon who has thousands of slaves, right? And we got good, obviously. And then _I_ fucked up, didn't I?"

"Well…" Kun understands how he feels – knowing something is your fault and not wanting anybody else to take the blame for it, but also feeling like it _couldn't_ have been you. That some superior force took him over and made him do something _wrong_ – something that fucked everything up. "I get you."

"You do?" asks Ten.

"I…" Kun groans, and rests his head in his hands. "Man, he was only _fifteen_."

"What? What happened?"

"I – it was a few weeks ago, so it's like a fresh wound," Kun sighs. "I was stupid. The ship was breaking down and I – I was scared, really. Really, _really_ scared. We stopped off on a planet so that the ship wouldn't die in the middle of space, but I – I didn't think. I let the crew off the ship when I know that I shouldn't have, especially not Kunhang." He blinks at Ten, who has his eyebrows furrowed. "He was – constantly distracted, and trusted people way, _way_ too easily. Had his head in the clouds, as one may colloquially say."

"I'm not liking where this story is going," Ten mumbles.

"If I'd stopped for a second and thought, Ten, it wouldn't have happened. We searched for hours, and – we couldn't find him. I made everyone wait for days, but Kunhang never came back to the ship. Eventually, we had to leave – the locals were getting mad that we were sticking our noses into business that wasn't ours to stick our noses in, and trashed our ship. I just – I fucked _up_ , Ten. He was fifteen and God knows what happened to him."

"Murder," he answers, softly. "No. They don't kill young people. They just…" He sighs. "Traffic them. You'll never get him back if that's what happened."

"Comforting." Kun uses the rough edge of his jacket sleeve to dab at the corners of his eyes. He doesn't want _anybody_ to see him cry, and especially not Ten. "It could have happened to Taeyong, too – though he was with the Government the last you remember?"

"Yes. But they're not exempt from doing messed up shit," Ten says, like it's obvious. "Case in point – I _died_ , remember? They murdered me."

"Mm. Yeah," he sighs. "We're going to Sangpota, but the likely chance is…"

"Yes. I know. The Government probably still has him," Ten admits, "but going to Sangpota is worth the risk. If anybody knows what's happened to him, it's Johnny. Besides, I want to make this worth your while, so I can give you the money there. I can't access my account from here, after all." He smiles, like he's had some kind of brilliant revelation. "I might know somebody who can find out where Taeyong is. If the Government still have him, of course."

"The Government…" Kun pauses. "It feels like I _know_ them, know what they supposedly stand for, but I don't – I don't know who leads the Government, where they're located, what they even do. I just don't like them."

"Nobody does," answers Ten. "I always thought that – how weird is it that the Government is just an entity? A _concept_ , if you like. Something to scare kids, to inspire fear in the hearts of to-be criminals, but there's no real figurehead to speak of. Governments of the past, they had representatives – presidents, prime ministers, whatever – but we don't. Just…" Ten sighs. Kun notices that when he's passionate, he waves his hands around wildly, motioning left and right with no real rhyme or reason. "...Think about it. It's funny, isn't it? Are there even people – whatever race of creature they are – making laws? What if it's just a computer? Now _that_ would be fun. Hating a big, bad computer."

"But there are those who execute that computer's wishes, of course. It's a theory, but I don't think it's true," Kun explains. "The police, they're – they're assholes. And I don't know. I just can't figure it out for the life of me." He sighs. "And the monarchy. I don't think too much of them, either."

"Yeah. The Crown Prince pisses me off," answers Ten. "Asshole got me killed, for fuck’s sake."

"Hot, though."

Ten smiles brightly at Kun. "It's the cream, I'm telling you!" 

"Yeah. About that," Kun says, "why'd you want it in the first place? I know you said that you didn't think about it, but – I thought you couldn't get hurt. Why would you need to heal wounds? Do you want to stay young? Is _that_ it? Vanity?"

"I'm not _vain_ ," Ten dismisses, "but I like to keep my appearance in check. Anyway, I _can_ get hurt. I can get hurt badly, in fact, but I can't die." With shaky fingers, Ten pulls his shirt up to reveal a pale chest littered with injuries. Every possible injury, in fact – scrapes and bruises, not too intense, but, most notably, a very large, _severe_ burn across half of the flesh. Five bullet wounds across the bony blades of his ribcage, all vaguely similar. From the same gun, perhaps? "Police and officials all use proper guns. Bullets and all. Kills easier. People survive, um, blasters." Kun raises an eyebrow. "Not _just_ me, idiot."

"The burn…" Kun says. "May I touch?"

"You sound like that Yangyang kid," Ten laughs, but nods. The bullet wounds are deeper than the rest. More severe, but nothing compared to the burn. Burnt to the third degree, Ten suspects, but a considerable amount of time ago. After all, why would Ten want a salve for wounds he didn't have yet? It must be the burn. The skin looks leathery and yet feels somewhat waxy – even now, however long ago this was, it must hurt. 

"This burn…" Ten sighs. "Three years ago. I was eighteen, and it was the only other time I got caught. Well, almost. I wasn't caught, but very nearly. It was on some planet – Eeta, I think, but I tend to forget nowadays – that had these massive fire pits. I was careful, but Taeyong wasn't there. Had influenza. That's why I need him, Kun. He keeps me _safe_. Well, most of the time. Anyway, these guards were chasing after me and I tripped, and – well, y'know. Imagine a puddle, but fire! Yeah, that's that." He sighs. "It's not a joke, but you've no idea how badly it hurt. It reminds me…" He stares at Kun's fingers. "It reminds me of my weakness. I want to forget it completely, but instead I got four new scars to deal with and no fucking cream." 

Kun chuckles to himself. "I kinda get what you mean about it sounding dirty," he laughs. "Hey, I think it's lovely. Shows what made you _you_. The person you are today."

"Mm, it's _lovely_ , huh?" Ten jokes, running his fingers through Kun's hair, who is leaning down to observe closer. "Why don't you _show_ me how lovely it is, then?"

Kun presses his face to Ten's chest, and immediately begins to pepper small kisses against the rough flesh. "You know," Ten giggles, "I really do think I chose the right ship."

The door to the control room makes a faint _whoosh_ as it slides open, interrupting Ten's small laughs as Kun kisses his chest. "Oh, hi," Kun says, lifting his head up quickly, "Yangyang, sorry. Are you okay? I thought that you were sleeping. You _should_ be sleeping, in fact."

Ten pulls his shirt down. "Hi, kid."

"What are you doing?" Yangyang says. "Kissing?"

"Yes, kissing," Kun says. "So, what are you doing up? Is something bothering you?"

Yangyang shakes his head. "No. Just couldn't sleep. The, um, engine. Shaking the bunks a bit too much. Hi, Ten."

"Well," Kun says, "that's not a problem. Are you hungry?" Yangyang nods. "Alright. I'm sure we have some freeze-dried strawberries somewhere, and – Ten, you talk to him. I'll be right back." Kun jumps up out of his chair, probably embarrassed for what he was caught doing, and Yangyang immediately sits down in his seat. He's got these strange, almost lamb-like eyes – cute, really. His skin is tanned and clear of any scarring, and the hair on his head is a little overgrown. 

"Where'd he find you, then?" Ten asks, leaning back in his chair. "You're a bit…"

"I fell into a black hole," Yangyang says, smiling. "No, just kidding. I was a servant, for like – I dunno, ten years. I used to clean the chimneys of these Victorian revival houses, but it wasn't a big deal, see, because I've got good lungs."

"What the fuck?" Ten asks, filled with outrage. "That's so outdated and _cruel_. Oh, how terrible."

"No. I got fired when I was too big, so I had to find another job," he explains, "and so Captain found me, gave me a bed and food and a purpose, and said I'd never have to do anything like that ever again." He shrugs his shoulders. "I never had any parents, so the Captain is sort of – I don't know, like my dad."

Ten smiles, and rubs Yangyang's shoulder encouragingly. "You're brave, kid. You'll go a long way."

Kun returns with a half-empty packet of dried strawberries. "Has the nasty man been wagging your ear off, Yangyang?" 

"No, I like him," Yangyang says, excitedly. "I really do."

Kun raises his eyebrows at Ten. "Lucky you."

**2**

Taeil is somewhat getting used to waiting an eternity for things to happen, but it doesn't make it any less frustrating when he has to lay awake all night in case he misses any sign of life outside the cell. There's no window, no _nothing_ , but Taeil can hear the engine beneath him, so at least it's not soundproof.

He counts, through the night. Actually, is it the night? Is there such a thing as _night_ and _day_ when you're in space? There must be a sun, but it's not like it's visible from here. Either way, it _feels_ like it should be night, so Taeil just assumes so. Seven hours. Seven hours and five minutes until he hears the quiet squeak of the little door in the wall opening. Jumping up as soon as he hears it, he sees a tray of food being shoved in – despite two of them being in the cell – and, without thinking, he shoves his hand through the wall. 

"Um," a nervous voice says, "uh, could you move your hand?" Not Siwon, then. Somebody – _nicer_. More nervous, at the very least. He doesn't remove his hand, though. Taeil needs to talk business. "Uh…"

"My friend is sick," Taeil says, "please. I think it's pneumonia," he adds, a little breathless. "Do you have, like, a medical bay? A doctor? Anything? Medicine?" He feels sick. Very, _very_ sick, but Lucas probably feels worse. He was coughing blood all night, after all. "I'll do anything." It all points towards pneumonia – rattling lungs, an odd-sounding chest due to fluid, a nasty fever.

Well, maybe. Definitely. Lucas needs medicine, and they promised to save each other – from illness, from suffering. From everything. This _is_ everything. 

"He's sick?" the voice asks. "Um, there is a medical bay, but – well, the commissioner told me, um, not to let any prisoners go there, so, um." Taeil sighs. What a fucking waste of time. Or maybe not? Maybe he can – "Pneumonia. Oh, God, how awful."

"Please," Taeil begs, "if you can bring me some equipment, I can – I'm a doctor, okay, I know what I need!"

"Well," the voice mumbles, sounding very nervous. What luck. Taeil supposes he got lucky. "Well, what do you need? And you're a doctor? How did you end up here?"

Taeil doesn't want to think about that – not right now, at least.

"Long story," Taeil responds. "Um…" He thinks hard. Pneumonia, pneumonia…Fuck. Fuck, Taeil has to _think_. "Um, azithromycin. Should be...600mg, I think, that's good. Some water. Rest, but you can't exactly _bring_ that, um…" 

"Well," the guard says, "okay, sure. But…"

"But what? Oh, God, can't you just do it?" Taeil asks, his tone angry and – for the first time in a while, frustrated. Endlessly frustrated. "Can't you –"

"Yes, yes. Okay, I will," he agrees. "But there are cameras, and –" He lets out a deep sigh. "Siwon is going to kill me. My _boss_ is going to kill me. _Shit_." Oh, come on! He can't back out now, surely? That's even worse – Taeil was only just starting to believe that people could have good in them. "No, okay."

Fuck! Fuck, yes. Taeil removes his hand, and the small door slides shut with a short promise of, "I'll come back." For the first time in a while, excluding Lucas, Taeil actually trusts that he will – and he never even saw the man's face.

Taeil gently shakes Lucas' shoulder. Illness isn't fair, and it often comes all at once. Of course, it's not like such a thing matters – _fairness_. No, that's not it at all. It comes on all at once, never-ending, and although Taeil is a doctor, he can't prevent things like this from happening altogether. That's just it, though. All he wants to do is _help_ , and for the first time in weeks (maybe months, at this point) he's actually able to do so. 

"Lucas," Taeil says, softly. The younger opens his eyes weakly, looking sweaty and pale, and meets Taeil's gaze. He picks up the tray from the metal floor and places it by Lucas' side. There's a small plastic spoon, probably to prevent injury, and so Taeil picks it up, assuming that Lucas won't. Not for his lack of hunger, but for his lack of energy.

The food – well, it's indecipherable. Something that resembles some kind of sticky bean and a small bowl of what looks like a chunky soup containing an odd type of meat. Taeil shrugs it off, and says, "Sit up, and I'll help you eat."

Lucas groans, but does what he's told. 

"Okay, open your mouth," Taeil instructs. Lucas does so, his jaw slacking open, and Taeil spoons some of the liquid part of the soup so that he doesn't have to chew so much. After all, some water would be handy, but it's fine for now. The guard is going to get some, after all. Lucas swallows, and looks a little more comfortable for it. "It's okay, Lucas."

Taeil will work out a plan _after_ Lucas is better. He's the one that understands machinery, after all, and they'll work better as a team. Lucas telling him what to do, and Taeil doing it. 

The door slides open again. "Got it," the guard says. "Water and azithromycin." 

"Oh, you're _amazing_ ," Taeil exclaims, grabbing for the bottle of pills and the metal water bottle. "Tell me your name, if you can? I'm Taeil. Um, Dr. Moon. Yes."

"Dr. Moon," the guard repeats, softly. "I'm Officer Jung. Uh, Jaehyun. Your friend…?"

"Lucas," he repeats, "but I don't know his surname. Can you talk, or are you busy?" 

"Yep," Jaehyun says. "I was bored anyway. God. Doing guard duty is so boring, but Jungsoo hates my guts." He sighs. 

"Let me help Lucas," Taeil says, "and then I have some questions to ask." The pills are easy enough to take, and Lucas seems too out of it to question what Taeil is going. Give it time, and he'll get a bit more clarity about the situation. "Okay, Jaehyun. Tell me what's happening, because I don't even have a clue what I did to deserve being locked up."

"Oh…" Jaehyun hums. "Well, I don't know. I was just told to guard this cell. Besides, the whole row is empty. It's just us three." Taeil hears the distinct sound of Jaehyun sliding down the wall to sit on the floor in the same way that Taeil is, only on the other side of the wall. "There are cameras, but no microphones."

"Why are we alone?"

"Guess the ship has a quota to fill," Jaehyun assumes, "like, a certain amount of cells to fill. We're on the way to a, um, planet – um, Gara. The people of Gara are revolting. _Again_. This is a police ship from the Felinus Galaxy. It's where I'm from. More specifically, I'm from Helmi." He laughs fondly. "Small planet. Basically in the middle of nowhere. I got bored of all the grassy fields, so I picked up and left. What a waste. I should've just become a farmer."

Taeil rests his head against the wall. "I'm from Earth II," he explains. "To cut a long story short, I lost everything and ended up working in a mine. We, um, _liberated_ an escape pod, but it was only because we were being forced to work as slaves! I'm a doctor, not a miner."

Jaehyun lets out a sigh. "Oh, but that's how they get you," he sighs, "and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Tanta Corp. have bought out the trust of every police officer on this side of the galaxy, so because…" He takes a deep breath. "Well, it's not very – you're in a lot of trouble, Dr. Moon and Lucas. And I'm sorry, because you don't deserve it."

"Is there _any_ way?" Taeil says. "Any way to escape, I mean?"

"You're asking a guard that?" _Shit_. "I could think of a few ways, but it'd almost definitely get me killed."

"Killed? I thought we were just going to prison!"

"This is a ship for transportation," Jaehyun answers, "when we get back, I imagine – well, I imagine you'll die, Dr. Moon." He breathes heavily. "I'm sorry. It's just the system. You don't deserve – you shouldn't have to –"

"No, no," sighs Taeil. "For some reason, I kind of expected it." He stares at Lucas, who is currently passed out again. Good. At least he doesn't have to hear this – not quite yet. "My family. Can you contact my family? Apparently Siwon won't contact my lawyer, but – I need to speak to my sister before I die."

"I…" He sighs. "Tell me, and I'll see what I can do."

"Taeyeon Moon. She's a trainee doctor, like me," he says, "and she has a daughter. Oh, God. Her daughter. I need to – God, I can't die. It's hardly fair! I haven't even done anything _wrong_."

Jaehyun, after being quiet for a few seconds, slides his hand through the hole in the door, palm clutched tightly around something. When Taeil takes the initiative to touch his hand, Taeil sees Jaehyun's ID card. Fresh-faced, young Officer Jaehyun. "So what? You wanted me to see your face?"

Jaehyun laughs. "No. Access anything," he explains, quietly, "and, when we get to Gara…" He makes a small noise. "You did it once. You can do it again."

"I can't," Taeil protests. "Won't there be police everywhere?"

Jaehyun groans. "I…" He makes a defeated noise. "I can help. I'm sick of this anyway, and I know the layout of this ship like the back of my hand, so. Also, I have a gun – which, for the record, has bullets I'd be more than happy to put in Siwon's kneecaps."

"Not head?"

"I'm nice," he laughs. "But I – tell me about your sister, Taeil. Tell me about home. Tell me what you're looking for when you leave."

Taeil almost laughs, and smiles at the mere thought of the things that might come back to him. "My sister lives in this comfy little apartment in, um, Seoul. That's a city, uh, from the planet I'm from. Beautiful, but – it was cold, really," he laughs. "She used to say, 'If I had balls, they'd have frozen off by now,' and it was – she was pregnant when I left. Just two weeks. She asked me to wait, and I didn't." He feels choked up at the thought of it. "If I don't get out – if I _die_ – then I'll never see her. The baby. I'll never see her baby. My niece."

"What's her name? Did she decide?" Jaehyun asks. 

"Her girlfriend liked Jia, but eventually they decided on Nina," Taeil recalls. "I always wanted kids. You know – something that _lasts_. You make your mark on the universe not by killing and pillaging, but by helping and – creating. I don't want to say breeding, but essentially. You know what I mean."

"Me, too," Jaehyun agrees. "People say on my planet that having children is the most precious gift in all the galaxy. Raising them is the responsibility of all the community – mother, father, aunts, uncles, neighbours. That's how we survive," Jaehyun states, "by being together. Living together. Loving together. Hoping together. Existing together."

"I would go all over when I was younger, to loads of different countries," Taeil says. "They were so pretty. Rome, for example. They rebuilt the Coliseum, a place where gladiators would fight, to its original condition. I remember looking at the tribute to all the lives lost and thinking," he adds, "no more. No more death. No more needless, pointless death."

"You're a doctor," Jaehyun says. "You're a doctor! That's it!" 

"Huh? That's what?"

"On top of all his other bitching, Commissioner Jungsoo, my _insufferable_ boss, is always complaining about his bloody back. _My back this, my back that_. If I can get him to think you're worthwhile, I can make him – I can make him have some sort of mercy, or at least distract him for a bit while you work," he explains. "It might work and it might not, but – it could, Dr. Moon. I can make this better for you. I can _help_ you, Taeil." 

"Well," Taeil says, "it's worth a shot. For my sister. For her child. For my planet. For Lucas."

**3**

Ten stares out from the transparent screen of the control room into the endless darkness, littered with stars and cascading comets and glimmering planets, and feels – _strange_. Like he's seen these things before but, in some way, he hasn't. Not like this. Not without Taeyong.

It's weird. He misses him, but he also is starting to feel like he's doing something really, _really_ wrong – he's replacing Taeyong. Replacing him with somebody else. Somebody new.

But no, Ten isn't – not intentionally, of course. Kun is collateral. It's easier if Kun loves him – _desires_ him, especially – because it makes this all go a lot easier. No hard feelings, of course, when Ten eventually leaves, but this is his life. These are _his_ choices. He needs to find Taeyong, and then he needs to leave. Take a nice long break on some sunny planet, maybe. Stay out of the limelight. It's safe to say that he won't be stealing shit any time soon.

But if he doesn't find Taeyong? What happens then? 

The end of everything. The end of an _era_ , if anything. Ten doesn't know what to do without Taeyong – he's his lifeforce. His everything. The air to his lungs. The beat to his heart. The Bonnie to his Clyde. Or is Ten the Bonnie? Maybe. It's not like it matters, after all, if Taeyong is dead. 

Taeyong _can't_ be dead. Ten can't live without him – then again, he can't _die_ either. He'd just live, empty and alone, with nothing but a lost hope and a full bank account.

"You know," Jieqiong says, staring at the screen of the control room. Ten doesn't understand a lot of it; Taeyong was – _is_ – good at those things. "I met the Crown Prince when I was a little girl. What a pompous brat."

"Ah, yeah." Ten snorts. "Sure. He was – I hardly spoke to him, he just screamed. Yeah. Was kind of…Pretty, maybe? But also annoying. Imagine him being the representative for all of humanity."

"You're not a Terran, though," Jieqiong says, tapping at the screen. "That's obvious enough." 

"But I manage to look like one," he laughs, "don't I? I mean, apart from my tentacle legs." Jieqiong looks up at him like he's serious, and smiles brightly. The cosmos bleeds a bright shade of pink across her face as she faces him. "Kidding, Pinky."

"But you can't die," Jieqiong says. "Or maybe you can. I'm just trying to figure out the logistics of it, but I'll get on it soon enough." It's weird. Ten never even thought to ask what she was – human? She looks like it, at least. Then again, she never asked _him_. Not that he knows, of course. The point still stands. "As of right now, I think we should focus on safely landing on Gara."

"Why's that?"

"This ship _constantly_ needs refuelling. Drains quickly. Really, _really_ quickly, and getting stranded – well, it's a problem," Jieqiong explains. "Need not repeat the past, let's say. Anyway, Gara fuel is dirt cheap, so – y'know, cutting costs when possible. Entiendes, por supuesto."

"No. Me mola el glamour," Ten replies. "You're speaking Spanish." He doesn't remember learning it, though, which is the strangest part.

"So are you," Jieqiong laughs. She pushes a lever forward, and the ship jolts forwards. "I've been told that newer ships land for you automatically, but this bad boy –" The ship tips the right, and Ten almost slides halfway across the room. "– is a stubborn bastard. Hey, Ten, kerro minulle Taeyongista."

"Finnish, now," he laughs. "He's – amazing. Smart, kind, perfect. You get the picture. What's with the different languages?"

"You can understand a lot about a culture by listening to their language," she answers. The ship shakes violently and she simply laughs like she's well accustomed to feeling like the entire world is falling apart around her. Ten isn't, however, and resists very hard against throwing up in his mouth. He's never been on a ship with turbulence as bad as this, though, so it's somewhat understandable. Once the ship is steady, she says, "Captain is even worse at this than me. He's – odd, let's say, but fundamentally, right down to his bones, a good person."

"Is that why you stick around?" Ten asks. "Because he's a good person?"

"Off-record," Jieqiong says, "he's a terrible captain, but he's a brilliant friend." Ten watches as cities spill out below him, forming the structure of a fully developed planet. "You know," she observes, a little worriedly, "I'm not sure what he thinks of you, but he's fully inclined to trust every single person he meets. Don't be the asshole who breaks that trust."

"I promise," he says. Ten worries that he might break that promise, but he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> general note - this chapter contains a very slight vomit mention, so if you're upset by that, be careful!!

**1**

"Here's the plan," Jaehyun says, his mouth uncomfortably close to Taeil's neck as he presses the gun into Taeil's back. He's not going to shoot – obviously not – but it's not exactly fun. "You need to go in there and, like, diagnose it. I don't know, you're the doctor."

"It could be nothing," Taeil mutters. "I don't know. This might not work."

Somehow, Taeil can tell that Jaehyun is frowning even though he can't see his face. Problem is, that doesn't relax Taeil anymore – half the guards are gone from the ship to deal with the crisis in Gara, including Siwon, and therefore the ship is eerily emptier than beforehand. This might not work. There is a very large chance that this won't work.

"Oh, come on," answers Jaehyun. "Don't be so negative." Negativity – well, that's Taeil's speciality. "C'mon. This plan can work, you just have to believe it." Hope and prayer. Well, of _course_. You choose to believe in things because _not_ believing in them hurts way too much. Taeil believes in Lucas – if he doesn't, if he gives up, it's always _worse_. "If you can prove yourself, he'll –"

"He'll what?" Jungsoo asks. 

Jungsoo isn't exactly what Taeil was expecting, but he doesn't really know _what_ to expect of anybody anymore – everyday, people surprise him endlessly. The machine whisperer. The empathetic officer. The embarrassingly sexy, yet simultaneously _evil_ , Jungsoo. Honestly. This might be the most humiliating erection of his life.

"Sir," says Jaehyun, "this prisoner is a doctor, Sir. He wants to help you with your back, Sir. I should have asked before –" His intonation screams scared shitless, and yet what Taeil feels is plenty worse. His knees feel like they're going to give in. It's always his _knees_. It's weird – the whole ship feels like he's separated from reality itself, and yet –

"A doctor?" Jungsoo asks. "My back? You really do surprise me every time, Jaehyun, with your fucking idiocy." Okay, so… _Not_ good? "But I don't suppose it would hurt. What's he even here for?" 

Great. Glad to know the sexy idiot is in charge. "Illegal work," Jaehyun explains. 

Jungsoo nods, and then says, "What kind of doctor? Medical?"

"Uh, I was trained on Earth," Taeil explains, "and I'm quite good at – uh, doctor-y shit. You know. I'm thinking that your back problems may be caused by either spondylolisthesis or, um, a prolapsed disc in your spine. I would have to – um, feel it." He tries to regain a little confidence, and tips his head up. "Take me to the medical bay, and I can help you. Sir."

Jungsoo scowls. "Why not? If you fuck me over, I'll just get to kill you sooner," he reasons. Oh, great. Taeil's hands are trembling, but at least Jaehyun removed the gun from his back. Right. Back pain…Well, Taeil's no chiropractor, but spines aren't exactly outside of his comfort zone. He can figure this out. He _should_ be able to figure this out – how to help. He knows the possible causes – he just has to figure this out, because if Taeil wants to survive, wants _Lucas_ to survive, he has to adapt. Be better. Face his fears head-on.

Taeil doesn't want to die, but that seems obvious enough.

The medical bay is very big, and very empty. The shelves are full of unused products, and Taeil supposes that this is due to the fact that nobody uses this room. Jaehyun stands at the door nervously, and Jungsoo perches on an elevated metal slab. Taeil chews at his lip as he says, "It might help if you, um, take your jacket off. Or not." 

Jungsoo frowns at that, but does so without saying anything else. Taeil presses his hands down Jungsoo's spine, uncomfortably aware of how there is a gun held in Jungsoo's hands. Great. Getting shot any second sounds great, actually. Jaehyun keeps twitching, which isn't even the least comforting thing happening right now. Taeil can't understand what's wrong with his spine – pain is just pain, and physical strain doesn't exactly help. Jungsoo is – well, he's in good shape, and that could be the cause. Too much spinal stress, he supposes. 

Taeil pads his fingers along the bottom of his spine, and quickly says, "It's probably a prolapsed disk."

"And what does that mean?" Jungsoo sighs. How has he _already_ lost his patience? Taeil couldn't have been examining for more than two minutes, of course, and yet Jungsoo sounds fed up at the idea that there isn't an instant cure for his fucking back. Jesus Christ. No wonder these assholes are like this – everything has to be instant, or it's a profound inconvenience. "I can hardly move most days, if that helps," he adds, but he says it in such a rough, harsh tone that Taeil isn't convinced if Jungsoo understands what being _helpful_ actually means. Either way, it does give Taeil a clue about how severe the slipped disc is. 

This isn't even severe. Taeil imagines being executed is far worse, after all, and this doesn't exactly seem like – well, he might not be able to make this work. There's no instant cure. What he thinks might benefit Jungsoo could take hours, even _days_ , to make any profound difference, and Jaehyun said that they would only be on Gara for about a cycle – give or take, depending on the severity of the revolution. Taeil is praying for full-blown riots, for Molotov cocktails and raging fires – that buys him time, after all, and the policemen he's met so far, Jaehyun excluded, haven't exactly been the nicest of people.

So. Taeil has to improvise. Make his own plans. 

"Do you feel numb?" Taeil asks, pressing his hand to the small of the older man's back. How old is he, then? Taeil can't tell. His hair is shiny and pink, so he's young enough to understand what's trendy at the moment, but his face looks slightly weathered. The pads of his hands are calloused when Taeil looks down at them. He's intimidating, no doubt, and his silence is anything but reassuring.

Why did Taeil think this would work? Jungsoo will outsmart them. Shoot them, even, and Taeil would hate if Jaehyun died for the sake of him. 

A comm device buzzes strongly in Jungsoo's pocket. He presses the machine to his mouth and says, "Siwon, what's up?"

" _We need more men, Sir. It's a slaughter out here_."

Taeil winces. He doesn't like the guy, sure, but slaughter makes it sound – like a distraction. "Jung, go," Jungsoo says. "If your prisoner does anything, I'm holding you personally accountable." Taeil swallows. "And, _Doctor_ , this doesn't make you better than any of the other prisoners. I'll shoot you when we land at base or I'll shoot you now, depending on how you play your cards." Jungsoo grabs Taeil's wrist so hard it feels like the bones are going to shatter into a thousand little shards. "You got that? You don't exactly look _strong_ , do you?"

Taeil knows what he has to do. If Jungsoo is distracted, and Jaehyun is _going_ –

While Jungsoo is turned towards the other wall, Taeil meets Jaehyun's eyes and mouths _Lucas, go_ and figures that's enough to go off on. Jaehyun's eyes widen.

 _Without you,_ he mouths back. _Why?_

Taeil presses his hand down on the disc, and Jungsoo makes a sharp noise of discontent. He sighs deeply, and then says _just go_. "Jung, why are you still standing there like a little bitch? Are you too scared?"

Jaehyun shakes his head firmly. "No, Sir. I'll go immediately."

Taeil hopes it works. If he can't get out, then maybe Lucas can. He's younger and, by that logic, deserves more time – he should be able to travel, after all, and Taeil trusts Jaehyun to get him there. Lucas is smart. He'll understand what Taeil is doing, and if he gets the opportunity himself, he'll run too. The thing is, it doesn't seem like that's going to happen. He doesn't have the opportunity to do so – and – his family are okay, they always will be, even if he's not around anymore. Jaehyun could find them, explain to them –

"You're freakishly silent," says Jungsoo. Does he want to make conversation? "What's wrong with a slipped disc?"

Taeil feels his throat close up, and tears prick his eyes. Explain. Don't _cry_ – it's fine. Everything will be fine if he just breathes, in and out, and does what he's told. "Um, basically," he says, a little quietly, "it means that some tissue between your spine is sticking out. You need to have, um, a steroid injection. Or a muscle relaxant." 

"I understand," Jungsoo says. Taeil's hands are trembling – he couldn't possibly administer an injection right now, could he? "My friend who works in the hospital needs more staff, so it's an awful shame I like like killing people too much." Why is he saying this? To _tease_ him? Most likely. It stings, whatever he's doing. "Since it's not like you're going to be able to tell anybody, do you want to know what he's doing?"

Taeil furrows his brows. "What do you mean?"

Jungsoo grabs his wrist again. "It means," he hisses, "that _you_ , Doctor, are going to live with the knowledge that I have to."

"But what do you _mean_ , Sir?"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake! You really are stupid, aren't you?" Jungsoo says. Taeil understands why Jaehyun called him insufferable before. "I'm saying that I'm giving you something to think about. Something that'll make your last days as unpleasant as my regular ones."

Taeil blinks, confused about such a method of _torture_ , perhaps, and asks, "What is it, Sir?" and receives a strange look in return. Well, how bizarre. Bizarre, yet terrifying.

**2**

"It takes approximately three hours to power the ship up fully, so I hope you're not all terribly bored without me," says Kun, standing by the open exit of the ship. Inside flutters a strange scent carried by the breeze – something chemical, something familiar, but Ten can't quite put his finger on it. "Sicheng, Tzuyu. With me. We're going to the city – God, I reckon all of you guys need to eat something that's _not_ out of a packet, right?" 

Ten thinks about proper, non-packaged food – hot, salty, delicious – and nods at Kun, a tiny smile on his lips. 

"Jieqiong," Kun adds, "you're acting captain." He tosses her a pair of handcuffs. "For Ten," he explains, when she looks at them strangely – of course, it's not as though the explanation helped all that much. Besides, where did Kun even get these from in the first place.

Ten looks aghast. But – but that's not fair! He followed the rules, after all, and being in handcuffs isn't exactly the most fun activity. "But I thought you _trusted_ me," Ten whines. Jieqiong looks at him sympathetically as she wraps them around his delicate wrists, wondering how they ended up deciding on restraining a member of their own crew, however temporary.

"I _do_ trust you," Kun sighs, "but for the sake of keeping the peace, Ten, I don't want Sicheng to feel uncomfortable. You understand. It'll only be a few hours, and we can take them off after that, okay?" Sicheng is still kind of upset about the whole situation, and it's not worth running the risk of him becoming _properly_ annoyed. Ten grumbles something under his breath but nods anyway. Three hours or so. It's not _so_ bad, he supposes. 

"Anyway," Kun continues, "as acting captain, you have to make sure nobody leaves this ship. Not for anything." He looks at Jieqiong sternly. "You're a good kid. My comm is on in case you need me, but I'd hope not."

"Gotcha, Cap," Jieqiong says, saluting quickly. Since when did these guys _salute_? Ten couldn't even if he wanted to, anyway. "It's an honour."

Kun smiles brightly. "No, it's _my_ honour," he laughs, "Captain Zhou, under _no_ circumstances can Ten leave this ship. I can't stress that enough."

"Yeah, yeah," Ten grumbles. "I'm going to sleep off these next three hours, thanks."

Upon collapsing on his bunk, Ten considers _why_ Sicheng hates him so much – or maybe it's not hate, just – dislike. Distaste. A mixture of all three, perhaps, that ends in a strange feeling that, above all, is remarkably negative. Either way, it's not like it matters. Sicheng doesn't like him, and Kun likes Sicheng too much to argue. Yeah. Spineless coward.

But that's not right, is it? He's not spineless, just – catering. Preventing arguments. Constantly doing damage control. Ten understands how once you've fucked up good and proper, it takes a damn long time for people to see you in the same light. Of course, Ten doesn't know how things were before, but he can fathom a guess – not _this_ awkward, at the very least. Everyone seems like they're walking on their tiptoes, afraid to do anything wrong, and maybe that's how it will always be from now on.

Ten just picked a bad time. It might not be his fault that everyone is being so – jumpy.

Hey, whatever. Ten rolls over with his hands in front of his face, and figures that this won't be his problem once they get to Sangpota. Taeyong will be there, he'll smile his pretty smile, and Kun can fuck off with handfuls of money. Sure, that sounds good. Hugging Taeyong again, embracing his warmth again, sounds even better. It's all he wants, in the end – Taeyong and Ten versus the galaxy. 

Before he can actually fall asleep, he feels a light prod against his shoulder. When he turns over, he sees the beaming face of Jieqiong, partially illuminated by the light box glowing above the two of them. What does _she_ want? To make excuses for her lousy, yet _very_ handsome, captain?

"You're coming with me," Jieqiong says, and Ten grumbles, yet does not argue. He doesn't exactly feel in the mood to piss more people off, despite how tempting it seems. "I have something to show you."

Ten wonders for a few seconds what could possibly be so interesting that she tried to interrupt his beauty sleep, but follows anyway. He expects something to do with Taeyong – he might have been found, might have been looking for Ten in the same way – but what he does _not_ expect is for Jieqiong to directly disobey Kun's orders and lead him off the ship.

The sky is a pale grey, and there are burnt pieces of red paper floating on the wind. Dust? Smoke? It certainly smells that way, like one big, planet-wide ashtray. Ten coughs, and Jieqiong smiles at him. What the fuck is she doing? Does she not care how Kun made her promise to not do exactly what she's currently doing? Maybe, maybe not. 

"I should go back," Ten says. This feels – wrong, maybe. Definitely. Ten doesn't know when or how he became such a stickler for the rules, but it's becoming slightly problematic right now. Half of him wants to know what Jieqiong is doing and half of him wants to go back on the ship, never to speak of this momentary disobeyal ever again. "Jieqiong."

"It's _Captain_ Jieqiong to you, thank you very much," she says, jokingly, and grabs his hand tightly. 

There's a help desk at the power station manned by a very bored-looking teenager with cyan blue skin, along with several electric pumps, provided with instructions in a language Ten doesn't get enough time to understand before Jieqiong drags him towards the boy. Why? What is she doing? Ten doesn't get it at all, and yet she seems so, so sure. 

The help desk itself is stacked with plastic shelves of leaflets advertising the city's attractions. Ten wonders why they couldn't pick somebody a bit more enthusiastic to entrap tourists from the several ships in the oversized yard. The ground beneath Ten's boots is dusty and dry, and somehow that's more interesting than the boy. Apart from his blue skin, of course, which – in all fairness – is _pretty_ cool.

"Hi…" the boy groans, sounding not at all interested. "...Jieqiong."

"Hi, Changkyun," she says, softly. "This is my friend, Ten." 

Is that what this is? Does she think Ten needs a new _friend_? 

Changkyun groans, boredly. "Right," he says, not even _bothering_ to feign interest. This is just lovely. If Ten was to actively choose a friend, Changkyun would probably be the type of person that Ten would _avoid_. Actively, and with great purpose. He's just so dull. And _blue_ , but that's probably the only cool part about him. 

Jieqiong is out of her mind. Ten places his hands on the help desk and says, "Look, I don't know why I'm here and _holy fuck_ , is that a fire bomb?" Hint: yes, it is a fire bomb. Coming from within the encrusted shell of grey apartment blocks and leaping up into the dusty sky is a _fire_ bomb. Fire. As in oxygen plus fuel plus ignition. As in –

"Sorry, what the fuck is happening in the city?" Ten asks. It's far away, so he assumes this place is a fair way off the beaten path, but the glistening buildings would be hard to miss. Besides, fire! Even that doesn't get Changkyun excited, which really is quite remarkable and yet, on the other hand, quite concerning. "Sorry. It's just that –"

Changkyun _groans_. The greatest of all his groans so far. Ten almost admires him for his commitment to being a moody blue teenager. Are all Garans this awkward and...Well, _boring_? Or is this an individual thing? A teenager thing? 

"...Yeah, there's a revolution going on," Changkyun says, like it's the most normal thing in the world. "Why did you friends go in there anyway…"

Jieqiong shrugs. "It usually looks that shit," she explains. "Guess they're just dumb. Anyway, why are you still working? You could revolt, Changkyun. I bet you have some pretty revolutionary ideas." Jieqiong turns to Ten. "They'll be alright. There are police ships flying in, Ten, so it's clear the situation is being handled. Besides, a Garan revolution is, like, super lazy."

"But there was a _fire bomb_ ," Ten insists. "Can somebody tell me what the fuck is happening?"

Jieqiong stares at Ten's hands, eyes widening. He glances down. Changkyun does, too. "Ten," Jieqiong says, "your hands are _blue_."

"No, they're not," Ten snaps. But they are. They are blue, like the night sky on his home planet or the hair on his friend Jungwoo's head. Bluer than...Blue. Even Changkyun looks a little confused, which is basically his equivalent of screaming like a madman. "What the fuck is happening? I am so confused. Why are we _here_ , Jieqiong?" 

"I…" Jieqiong begins to speak, but spots – three, four, _five_ , maybe – some figures running. Dark, shadowy figures. "Ten, no time to explain, gotta dash. Changkyun, you've been a darling! Keep working on your revolutionary ideas!"

Before Ten can became even _more_ confused, Jieqiong grabs his collar and runs back to the ship, leaving the door open behind her. She grabs Ten and says, "I know you're thinking _what the fuck_ right now, but I've been trying so hard and – I know it now, and I –"

Yangyang, who might have been watching for a while, simply says, "You took him out of the ship."

"I've figured it out!" she shouts, and laughs out loud. "Oh, my _God_ , I've got it! Yangyang, I've got it! I know what you _are_ , Ten!"

"What do you even mean?" Ten snaps. "You're all such freaks! Why are you doing this to me? You've got – you're – what do you _want_ from me?" This is really starting to freak him out. This is really, _really_ starting to scare him – and then it only gets worse.

A police officer. A real, honest-to-god police officer, standing with Kun at the bottom of the exit stairs – and the others, Ten notices, and somebody that Ten doesn't recognise slung over Kun's shoulder. God, no. God, this was always a trap – this always had to be a trap – and Ten believed it greedily, even let Kun put him in handcuffs and –

– he'll never find Taeyong. They'll try to kill him again, and now that Jieqiong has quite clearly figured out _what_ he is, they know how to do it now. Oh, fuck. Oh, holy _shit_ –

Ten blinks. This is the end. This is the _end_ , and his hands are blue but his heart is pounding red and – black. All he sees is black. In his last sensible thought, Ten thinks of Taeyong, almost as scared and helpless as he feels right now.

Fuck. 

Kun looks white in the face. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," he mutters, "just when I think things can't go _more_ wrong."

"I had to see, Captain," Jieqiong sighs, "to see if – if he's the _same_ , Captain, if he's – he is, Captain, he's the same as Kunhang." She bites her thumbnail and then suddenly says, "And he is. He's the _same_ , in flesh and blood and – I thought it was impossible, that it was a one in a million chance, that –"

Kun blinks. "So Kunhang's alive?"

"Yes, I – I think he is," Jieqiong says, excitedly. "Captain! He's _alive_!"

Although Kun looks momentarily pleased, his attention suddenly turns to the police officer behind him dragging an almost lifeless looking body up the ship's stairs. Right. He almost forgot about that because – because if Kunhang is the same, if he's like Ten, that means – that means he _must_ be alive.

But that's not very comforting, of course, when Kun knows how desperately the Government will tear him apart to figure out what makes him so special. 

"Do you have any medical supplies?" asks the officer. "Specifically a scalpel, and – fuck, what did Taeil say…" He shakes his head, and the boy he's gripping onto so intensely seems to stir at this, his sore eyes snapping open and scaring Jieqiong almost half to death. Right. These two now, and Kunhang later – but it can hardly _wait_ , not with the urgency in Kun's hands as he scrambles through the medical kit fitted in the wall for a scalpel. 

"I can't find one," Kun complains. 

"I have a knife," Tzuyu says, and plucks a very tidy-looking steel knife from her utility belt. "What do you need it for?"

The police officer bites his lip. "Cut the back of my neck," he says, "and you'll have to go pretty deep, so don't get squeamish." He shudders himself, and adds, "A little tracking device. I – just cut it out. I don't have much time to explain."

Sicheng almost laughs, hand on his blaster _again_. Kun is starting to think he has some compulsion for the damn thing. "You'll explain quickly, buddy," he says, "because I am _very_ tolerant, but not of your kind. It's only out of kindness for your friend here that you're on this ship, but I personally vote for keeping you on board until we can throw you out of the airlock."

Kun sighs. "Are you just itching to murder somebody? That shit sticks, Sicheng. But he's right…" He locks eyes with the police officer, who is currently on his knees with Tzuyu's knife digging around in his neck. With an aghast look on her face, she retrieves a small, flashing orange chip and steps on it thoroughly. The light fizzles out pretty quickly. "What's your name? And what's wrong with him?"

"Maybe you should have asked that before you merrily invited them on _our_ ship," scowls Dejun. It's clear enough that the man's profession really isn't doing him any favours, sure, but Kun – well, maybe he was wrong. Maybe he jumped the gun a bit, but he desperate needs to know that everyone is trustworthy. Ten! Ten, _shit_. 

"Yangyang and Dejun, take the, um, boy and Ten to medical room," Kun says. Note: repurposed room that was originally supposed to house beds for extra crew, but it wasn't necessary. Extra note: not really a _medical_ room, per se, but there are bandages and the like, so. It works. The police officer peels off his jacket to reveal a pretty little, almost starved frame. It's clear to Kun that he could probably knock this guy out if he needed to, but still. 

The other one would go easily, though tall and broad, because it's hard to fake a sickness that extreme. Well, whatever _that_ sickness is. It's odd. Kun just can't figure that one out. Sweaty, bloodshot eyes, the full monty. Really bad. Kun wonders if – no, they can't reroute. The nearest hospital is two cycles away, and the crew are always twitchy whenever a trip is delayed by a prolonged period of time. Still –

The police officer stares, panting heavily, at the floor, and Jieqiong closes the exit. 

"I – I'm Jaehyun," he breathes, "and I – I need you to help me." 

Sicheng groans. "Oh, _please_."

Even Tzuyu doesn't seem to approve of this. "You're a police officer," she says, pointing out the obvious. "We have no reason to help you. People like you cause a lot of pain, and we're the people who bear the brunt of it."

Kun feels a little bad, but fundamentally he does somewhat agree. 

"I left my friend to die," Jaehyun says, and suddenly clamps his hand over his mouth as he gags outright. Kun can't look – vomiting makes him feel queasy himself, and there's nothing worse than a painful wave of nausea. "Oh, God."

Yeah. Yeah, that's…

Kun doesn't know what to say, but watches Jieqiong kneel down and grip Jaehyun's trembling hand. "I trust you," she says, and maybe it's partly due to the fact that she grew up without fear. She wanted an _adventure_ ; the other members of the crew wanted an _escape_. "Guys, you're – he let you cut his tracking device out. The police can't find us, and, if you haven't noticed, he _is_ crying."

Sicheng shrugs. "You can fake tears. Tell us what's wrong with your _living_ friend and maybe we'll be somewhat merciful," he explains. Jaehyun sobs loudly at that, and Kun is finding it very difficult to not cry himself and pretend to be the calm, collected captain that he needs to be for everybody's sake.

"Um, pneumonia. But it's bad. He was – he was having a seizure, I think, and then he sort of...Passed out. I don't know. I'm not a doctor, but – I knew someone who was, and I – I had to leave him behind. He told me to leave him behind," he corrects. "Lucas needs to go to a hospital. I…" 

Kun doesn't know what to do or say. Despite the situation at hand, he can't stop thinking about Kunhang. God, he must be – "We're going," Kun decides. "We have to."

Sicheng looks angry at this, but doesn't voice his upset out loud. Instead, he storms off into his bedroom and the door snaps shut behind him. God. God, Kun feels like he's _really_ letting everybody down. Why can't he just do this right? Why does he keeping failing, again and again _and_ again? It's just so, so unfair. He's a useless person and an even worse captain on top of that.

Tzuyu slides her knife back in her belt. "For what it's worth, I'm with Sicheng," she sighs. "Kun, you've got some serious issues. You need to work them out before you can properly be in charge, because all I'm seeing is a scared little boy who fucked up and now is fucking everything _else_ up to make up for the first the fuck up."

"Fine," Kun says, and pulls off his badge, throwing it onto the floor. The tag reading **CAPTAIN** slides across to the metal surface and stops at the metal tips of Tzuyu's boots. "If this is what makes you all happy, I'm stepping down."

"Kun…" Tzuyu says, her voice trailing off into the distance. "Kun, you're not serious."

"No. I am _perfectly_ serious," Kun snaps. He never loses his composure, and both Tzuyu and Jieqiong are thoroughly taken aback by this. Jaehyun, however, doesn't know how he usually is, and just looks completely confused. Mercifully, he says nothing. "If this is what makes you all happy," Kun repeats, gently.

"No, it's –" A faint buzz attracts Tzuyu's attention, and she completely loses her train of thought. "What's that?" 

"It's – it's my comm," Jaehyun splutters, "personal. Personal comm. Can I…?"

Tzuyu nods at him. "Sure. Can we hear?"

Jaehyun nods, and scrambles for his pocket quickly to answer the buzzing call. "Yuta," he says, a little breathlessly. "What's up?"

" _You sound out of breath. Are you okay? I can call back later, if you'd like_."

"No! No, now's fine," he pants.

"... _Okay, sure. Anyway, guess what I found out! Can't wait that long, actually," Yuta, apparently, gushes. "You mentioned that Ten guy a few cycles ago, and I've been reading up on the conspiracy forums and people say he isn't dead! Anyway, that's not the coolest part._ " Kun raises his eyebrows at Jaehyun, and presses his finger to his lips.

"Oh, that's right," Jaehyun mumbles. "Wow."

" _Anyway, you remember sexless Dongyoung? Update: not that sexless. Crazy, actually, I would say. But I was, like, y'know, sucking him off and he started blurting out all this shit like he'd tell me anything and I was like anything? and he was like yeah, yeah yeah. So, in summary, I know what's in Ward 9, and you are gonna freak, man, this is some big shit_."

"Well, what is it?"

" _That's, um, the catch,_ " Yuta mumbles. " _You have to, um, come here to see it. Are you coming? Where are you, anyway?_ "

"I…" Jaehyun pauses. "Yeah, I'll come."

" _You're amazing_ ," Yuta compliments, and switches off the comm.

Tzuyu raises her eyebrow. "I don't know what you're thinking," she says, "but going to the hospital seems plenty more appealing now."

"How did you figure out it was a hospital?" Jaehyun asks.

"Unless it's an old people home or something, hospitals have _wards_ ," Tzuyu spells out. "Also, everybody in the galaxy knows Kim Dongyoung. Cured _fibromyalgia_? The guy's a genius."

"He cured fi-what-ia?" Jaehyun scoffs. "The guy's a pompous asshole."

"Sorry," Jieqiong says, "but how are we supposed to know what hospital it is?"

Tzuyu glances at her disparagingly. "There's only one. Sariaala, the hospital planet. In the centre of Felinus?" 

Jieqiong holds her hands up. "Alright, alright," she grumbles. "Who the fuck has a hospital planet anyway?"


	5. Chapter 5

**1**

"You know, Nurse Nakamoto, I did _say_ ," Dongyoung says. Oh, yeah, that's fine. Guilt is like that – wash the blood off your hands down the sink until the water runs clear. Something like that. Yuta would be quite understanding of this viewpoint if he didn't have a blaster pressed to the back of his neck. Mm. Yeah. Someway, somehow, his perspective on matters has changed slightly.

Yuta rolls his eyes. On his knees, there isn't much he can do to fight the situation at hand – sarcasm and dismay are his only weapons, considering his punches aren't exactly strong (even though he'd _love_ to knock Dongyoung's straight teeth out). God. And he's nervous, yes, incredibly so – he doesn't want to _die_ – but now isn't the time for dramatics. Besides, he doesn't want Dongyoung to see him cry.

Now isn't the time, anyway. 

"I always thought that you were a snake in the grass," Yuta laughs. It's strange, having his apartment filled with black-clad policemen with blasters and Dongyoung, probably his least favourite person _ever_ at the moment. So, what is this about? Ward 9? Guns are cute, but an explanation would be cuter. It's not like Yuta is living an outstandingly revolutionary existence. "Bitch."

Dongyoung smiles. "Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent beneath it. Besides, I'm not even upset about _that_ ," he says. His vagueness is really making Yuta feel uncomfortable. What's _that_? Ward 9? If that was so, why wouldn't he just say so? Or is that Yuta being strangely, and _embarrassingly_ , attracted to Dongyoung? "Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?"

"Just tell me what this about," Yuta snaps. "Man, this is just wrong. I haven't broken any laws. Haven't done _anything_ –" The man behind him presses the blaster further into the flesh of his neck. "Just tell me. I'll press charges if you don't tell me."

Dongyoung blinks, and crosses his arms above his stomach. It's weird to see him in normal clothes – a red jumper, a pair of blue jeans, a _smile_. He doesn't usually smile. Why is he smiling? "Look, you're not really in trouble," he says, "you just need to cooperate, and the general assumption is that your morality isn't so lacking that money would act as an adequately persuasive measure. So we're going to kill you if you don't comply."

"Government cocksucker," Yuta spits. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

Dongyoung throws Yuta's comm onto the acrylic floor in front of him. "Jaehyun Jung," Dongyoung says, sharply, "we need him here, please."

"And who is we? And why? And why are you, a doctor, any part of this?" Yuta asks. "I mean, fuck. What did he do? When he's here, what are you going to do? How am I any part of this? And why are you here?"

Dongyoung sighs. "How about we get to that once you call him? You have to tell him something enticing. Something…" He smiles. "Something about Ward 9, you nosy bitch."

"Oh, I'm the bitch?" 

"Yes," Dongyoung snaps. "Now, then. Get to it."

**2**

How strange it is, to be back on Sariaala. The whole layout of the planet is entirely organised and entirely impersonal – a perfect system, designed to serve an entire galaxy of organisms, gaseous or solid, organised by the so-called _perfect_ Government. 

Something like that. 

"It's kind of cold," Kun says. It's just like Jaehyun didn't tell him to wear a jacket, but nobody seems to want to listen to him. "So, where we find this Yuta? And where should we put this one?" Lucas looks absolutely exhausted, completely drained of colour, and is half-leaning on Jaehyun, who is doing most of the walking for him. "Do we have to pay?"

Jaehyun shakes his head. "No," he explains, "any citizen of the Felinus is entitled to free healthcare. I mean, I'm assuming that Lucas is from here. I don't know. I didn't ask. If not, I – we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, I reckon we should split into two groups." Kun raises his eyebrows, and turns to seek the approval of Tzuyu. 

Tzuyu smiles. "I think that's a fine idea. How about you and Jaehyun go to see this Yuta guy, and Dejun and I will get Lucas into hospital," she suggests. "Besides, I just need some space to think, and I like the cold."

"Gotcha," Kun agrees. "We'll meet back here in, say, three hours." Jaehyun bites his lip and grabs Kun's hand, dragging him along the creepily empty road. "I mean, what is it about this place? What's the point in having this space and using it to make creepy roads that nobody's using?" 

"I think it's just stylistic," Jaehyun answers, softly. Kun is right, though – Sariaala is peculiar from any perspective, and Jaehyun personally prescribes to the idea that this place is way too creepy for its own good. Air clean, scented like apples, and definitely cold, Sariaala definitely models itself on some old-Earth architecture, with towering blocks of flats for the hospital workers in their thousands, bright green artificial trees, and empty roads. If Kun and Jaehyun were more finely attuned to their surroundings, they might notice how strange that is.

"I know," Kun sighs. "I'm worried. I need to leave Ten on the ship, for the sake of my own life, but I'm not sure how much I trust Jieqiong after her last little stunt. God, I can't help but worry about everything. How do you seem so calm? There's almost definitely a bounty on your head, no offence."

Jaehyun smiles, and it's odd – Kun could have sworn that he was into Ten about two cycles ago, but Jaehyun's face is entirely convincing otherwise, all dimples and smooth, tanned skin. He looks like the son of a farmer, inherited golden skin from centuries of working on paddies. Why he's a police officer – was a police officer – baffles Kun completely.

"Yeah, but Sariaala is politically neutral," Jaehyun explains, "so, for the time being, I'm relaxed. I mean, what's the point in having a hospital planet where you can die, right?" He smiles again. It's killing Kun, honestly. "Either way, Yuta is safe. He's…" He bites his lip. "A bit weird."

"So what's this Ward 9 thing about, then?"

"Oh. Right, yeah," Jaehyun laughs. "Oh, he's been crazy about this for months. I mean, I can't even remember when the obsession started. Basically, when he started at the hospital a while back as a nurse, he had to learn the map of the place. I mean, it's massive. Thousands of different wards for every imaginable disease or condition or treatment. So when he noticed this basically-not-there ward without any label of explanation, I thought, 'Oh, it doesn't matter.' But it mattered _so_ much to him, you wouldn't believe. He's been crazy over this, talking to me about it non-stop. I mean, this is his life. And I'm happy for him, really, but I can't help but think he might be lost without such a driving purpose."

"Aren't you curious about what the ward contains?" Kun asks, as they continue walking across the clean concrete. "I don't know what the Government is doing half the time. Secrets are standard. Isn't he scared of getting in trouble?"

"No, I don't think so," Jaehyun sighs, "and maybe that's his fatal flaw. Tragic heroes often have one – he's too obsessed. Often with himself, resulting in a strange sort of vanity that science can't explain." Jaehyun shrugs. "I guess I want to know, but I can't say that it'll change my life. More than anything, I'm happy because I know it will make him happy, but I'm fairly certain that this will only bring him more suffering when it comes down to it. The Government don't take kindly to people exposing them for their shady practices."

"Oh, but you worked for the Government."

"Yeah, and I think I proved pretty effectively what I make of that life by cutting their chip out of my neck," Jaehyun spits. "It wasn't _my_ choice, y'know? I got dealt a bad card in life, Kun. My parents were too overly ambitious, wanted me to have more, but it wasn't for me, it was for them. Half my money went to them. Basically, I'm poor as all fuck." He sighs. "I went travelling on the prison ship because I'm essentially homeless. I stayed with Yuta when I could, but I feel like a burden. Now I'm some sort of wanted criminal…" Jaehyun shudders. "Let's not talk about it. I'll figure it out. Maybe."

"I'm sorry," Kun sighs, weakly. "I'm sorry, it's just – nobody on my ship has a particularly good connection with the police, or the Government in general. I don't know about Jieqiong, but the others aren't exactly too fond of the all-powerful institution that watches over us all." He bites his nail harshly. "I mean, don't you think it's odd? We never see their faces. It's not like we have any democracy, right?"

"All we get is the image of Prince Taemin. He's the figurehead," Jaehyun mumbles. "Personally, I don't think he's real. Just a hologram or something. Hey, this is the block." Jaehyun stops at a pair of sliding doors and gestures towards Kun. "Like I said, Yuta is…" He sucks in a breath. "Odd. Let me do the talking."

Kun and Jaehyun step into a white-coated elevator, slick with metal on the inside and fitted with bizarre features such as a coffee machine. How quickly would you need to pour the coffee? Wouldn't the speed of the elevator cause the cup full of steaming hot liquid to spill everywhere? Still, there are forty floors, so somebody with a high-rise apartment would probably have the time to spare to make a cup of **CAFFEINE-RICH DRINK** , or coffee for the more cultured individuals. A token of humanity's influence. 

"He lives on the twenty-seventh floor," Jaehyun says, pressing a few buttons before the doors slam shut loudly. "Wait, don't you think it's odd that he couldn't tell me over the comm?"

"Government could have been listening in, I guess."

"Yeah…" Jaehyun nods fervently, but doesn't seem to be quite on-board with this theory. "Yeah, you're right. Hey, do you think I could stay with you, on your ship, for a bit, once this is all over? I guess I could…" His eyes widen as Kun shuffles around in his back pockets, revealing a blaster tucked into the inside of his deep jacket pocket. "You have a blaster? On Sairaala?"

"Sicheng told me to bring it," Kun defends. "In case you…" He winces. "Well, in case you threatened me. It's just precautionary, considering your previous profession. You understand, right? I'm sorry. I wouldn't have done it usually, but I couldn't help but worry...Jaehyun, I won't hurt you, okay? That's a promise." He puts his hands up. "I don't even know how to fire one."

"What?" Jaehyun chuckles. "Here. Let me show you." Kun places the blaster in his hand, noting that they are two floors away from their destination, and watches as Jaehyun delicately slides his firm, powerful fingers against the trigger towards the sliding doors. "You just gotta press hard. Use two hands, even though one looks cooler." Kun notes the unique positioning of his hands, and takes that in mind. 

The doors slide open, Jaehyun's gun still aimed towards the metal. On the other side is unmistakably a police officer – a full-fledged one at that, quite unlike Jaehyun. "Sorry, man," Jaehyun says, softly, before he blasts the guy in the foot. Well. That's certainly a demonstration.

Kun quickly exits the elevator, standing cautiously behind Jaehyun, brandishing the gun like somebody who isn't scared to use it, apparently. The two cautiously walk down the completely white corridor, approaching a cracked open door. "God," Jaehyun whispers.

"I'm sorry," Kun says, assuming the worst.

Their position quickly changes. Instead of being the powerful ones, Kun and Jaehyun are trapped from every angle, blasters in their faces and fear whitening every inch of their body – and God, if Tzuyu was here, she could do something. But she's not. Kun is going to die like this, with a man who is nice, yes, but he hardly knows, on a planet where you _apparently_ can't be killed. Wait! Yes!

"You can't kill me," Kun says, "we're on Sariaala, aren't we? So you can't kill me!"

One of the black-clad men scoffs. "Oh, we can't?"

"Where's Yuta?" Jaehyun says, half in tears.

"Killed him," another man says. "God, he _screamed_. You would have loved to see it, Jung."

"No, you can't! He never did anything wrong!" Jaehyun shouts. "I'll fucking kill you!" He raises his blaster to the man, ready to shoot –

**3**

Dongyoung is odd-looking so close up. He's attractive, without a doubt, but he's also not, in a way. His eyes are a little too far apart. His nose is just a little too wide. His smile is crooked. Yuta swallows, taking all of this in with the knowledge that he can't actually stretch his muscles to move and observe anything else. Just him and Dongyoung, but not in the way that Yuta ever expected.

"I did you a favour," Dongyoung explains, more likely speaking to himself, "but don't take my kindness as something to be taken advantage of, okay? Okay. Okay, Dongyoung. It's fine. Yuta, I'm assuming you're awake, but your mouth might be a bit…" Slow? Maybe, but that sounds somewhat insulting. "Laggy. I'm sorry." 

What? Dongyoung Kim, _apologising_? 

"I guess it's hard to explain for the time being," he sighs, "but…" Yuta swallows. He wants to move – it isn't a matter of lacking intention – but he can't, his body won't let him. What kind of drug did he take? "...I'm sorry."

Yuta blinks. His eyes feel crusty, like dried tears crystallised around his lashes, and tired, too. His body is totally numb, and all he can do is stare hopelessly at Dongyoung. Once every two minutes, his fingers feel like they're starting to twitch, but it's nothing. Just...empty numbness. Dongyoung's face is starting to bore Yuta – he has nothing else to do other than watch the other as he types something, quickly moves away for ten minutes, and returns to look at Yuta. 

Sometimes, he repeats that he's _sorry_. Sometimes, he says nothing at all. 

"I'm sorry," he says, for the millionth time. Honestly, Yuta just wants to fall back asleep, but he can't. His body is so tense, he can't imagine falling asleep – what would happen to him? Would he die? Maybe. "I don't know what to do, Yuta. I'm totally trapped."

What? Okay, this is interesting. If only Yuta could ask questions and pry, but his mouth feels so heavy. Dongyoung's face certainly reflects the look of somebody in a difficult situation, but it usually does. "I've tried so many different things," Dongyoung says. "But it just…" He sighs. "Why can't I make it work?"

Make what work? Through sheer will and determination, Yuta manages to force himself to make a small, gargling sound. It's not much, but he feels rather proud of such an achievement. Dongyoung lets out a tiny breath of air that does not, in Yuta's opinion, constitute a laugh. But it's enough. 

"I need you to help me," Dongyoung says. "...But I don't know how to do that now." He shrugs his shoulders. "I'm sorry about the...um, body thing. I had to make you pass out, and I only really have access to the type of drugs that sort of make your brain go a bit loopy for a good few hours and your body, um, follows. Sorry. You're a nurse. I won't dumb it down – I'm not used to doing this with another person, who has…" He swallows again. "Anyway, your body is paralyzed. I'm sure you gathered that. It might be like this for another few hours, four or five at the latest. You should just sleep."

Yuta doesn't exactly have _much_ choice in the matter.

"By the way…" He sighs. "I'm sorry that I've been so mean to you, but you'll soon realise it was for your own good, Yuta."

**4**

"I don't like that Jaehyun guy," Dejun complains, shuddering. "He gives me the creeps."

Tzuyu smiles sympathetically, and almost laughs a little when Dejun makes a strange face as Lucas starts slumping more of his weight on Dejun's side, propped between both Dejun and Tzuyu. "I know, but…" Hesitating, she continues, "you can't deny that he seemed pretty adamant that he hated the police. Give him that – he might be for real, or he's a really good actor. Either way, Kun has a blaster. If he tries something funny, Capt – _Kun_ will be okay."

"Was he serious?" Dejun asks, practically dragging Lucas through the main reception room of the hospital. Well, of this side – honestly, the mechanics and construction of this place is a confusing, yet entirely intriguing, concept to Dejun, and he'd like to study it in more detail. "I mean, you're perfectly capable, but it's just what we're all used to…" He sighs. "I can see the benefits of this, yes, but I can see the drawbacks as well."

The main reception room is, unsurprisingly, very busy. Dejun understands how it works very quickly – creatures filter in and out of a set of doors, opened by ID cards that Lucas doesn't seem to have. There's a bored-looking receptionist; even in places like this, the human touch is present. He's got pink hair, a pointed nose, and is currently filing his very long nails down. That doesn't seem very hygienic.

Right. "We should talk to him," Tzuyu says, quickly. Dejun looks mortified. "Okay, _I'll_ talk to him."

The boy raises an eyebrow at the three – Tzuyu, blank-faced and dressed in complete black with a heavy utility belt at her hips; Dejun, a twitchy teenager with a nervous expression somehow written across his entire body; and Lucas, a coughing, slouching boy that Dejun is struggling greatly to stop from falling over. 

"How can I help you?" he asks, brightly. His name tag reads proudly **JAEMIN NA**. "I suppose you're looking to get, um, _this_ one checked out, huh?" He makes a very loose gesture towards Lucas. "Alright. Do you have his ID card?"

"No, actually," Tzuyu sighs, hitting the side of her head. "I'm so forgetful! Hey, can I use mine? He's my brother, after all."

"He's your brother?" Jaemin asks, in disbelief. Lucas is currently coughing _directly_ in Dejun's face, which is both disgusting and medically questionable. Dejun is generally a bit of a germaphobe, and this isn't making matters any easier. "Right. Um, yeah." 

"Really?" Tzuyu squeaks. Dejun has to give it to her – she pulls off this act like a dream, smiling cutely so that nobody could even imagine that she has a blaster hidden in her belt. "Oh, thank you! Here," she says, pulling out her ID card from her pocket. "Thank you, honestly. He's got…" She winces. "A lung condition."

"Oh, man, that sucks," Jaemin says, nodding understandingly. "Hey, since he's…You can just scan your ID card and walk through with him. Sorry, who are you?" His eyes meet Dejun's, and his mouth is dry from a complete lack of words. "You can't go in," he emphasises. Tzuyu shrugs and mouths _sorry, wait for me_ as she effortlessly drags Lucas through the doors. "So, how can I help you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Dejun mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"...Okay, great," Jaemin says, awkwardly.

"Thank you!" Dejun squawks.

"I didn't do anything?" Jaemin laughs, scratching the back of his neck. "Say, are you any good with these tablets? Mine is totally jammed." He holds up the standard issue tablet – basically nothing special, which makes it twenty times easier to fix. It's pretty much impossible to jam one of these things, Dejun thinks, but some people manage to be even worse with technology than Kun. 

"Sure," Dejun says, smiling. "Plenty better with one of these than, um, talking to people." He takes the tablet, and quickly starts working through the veritable wall of advertisements. All… _unpleasant_ , let's say. Dejun blushes but says nothing, whereas Jaemin has taken to start filing his nails again. "I mean, how do you even _do_ this to your tablet…"

"I get bored. Besides, I don't really need my tablet for anything else," Jaemin answers. 

"Oh. Gotcha," Dejun says. Jammed. Right. It was just slow from the amount of...lewd images. Dejun realises he has an ample opportunity to figure out how this building works now, but he's terrible at improvisation and – well, lying. "Hey, do you have a map of this place, 'cos –"

"Yeah, sure," Jaemin answers. Wait, what? He didn't even need an excuse! How lucky is Dejun! "I can give you a digital one. Do you have any sort of, um, device? You know what I mean." No, he doesn't. Jaemin probably means some kind of portable tablet, but Dejun only has a comm. 

"No, sorry," Dejun sighs. Damn. What a waste of time. 

"Hey, no bother. You can borrow mine for a bit," Jaemin says, "it's not like I use it that often."

"Oh, thank you!" Dejun exclaims, as Jaemin almost immediately gives him the tablet back. "I really appreciate it." 

Yeah. Appreciate it. 

Upon viewing the map, Dejun is almost automatically drawn to the massive blank space around about where Ward 9 should be. Odd. Is that normal, considering every other significant area is clearly labelled? Odd. Very, very odd. Didn't the man that Kun and Jaehyun are going to meet mention something about this? Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Dejun waits until Jaemin is completely absorbed in his almost obsessive nail filing and spies where the ID cards are scanned. Hm.

Considering how many people are streaming through that door, Dejun joins the crowd and quickly moves past the closing door without much question. His thin body allows him to move almost inconspicuously – besides, he doesn't _exactly_ stand out of the crowd. Ruling that a success, Dejun smiles to himself and checks his comm. If all goes well, he can inspect the area in, say, half an hour and be back in time to prevent Kun from worrying unnecessarily about him.

Besides, Dejun does feel a little bad about taking advantage of Jaemin's good nature.

Following the map, Dejun quickly realises that the hospital is somewhat maze-like, full of twists and turns that don't really make sense. For example, why does Ward 32 come before Ward 8? Who designed this layout? Is it _meant_ to be so damn confusing?

Shrugging off the ominous feeling that comes from being all alone in such an expansive space, Dejun begins to wonder where everybody is. If Ward 9 is just a regular ward, shouldn't there be people down this corridor? Come to think of it, Dejun hasn't seen any people for a good while. If this place is serving a whole galaxy, how come it's so empty? There were people in the waiting room, but not since Dejun diverged off of the path they were all walking towards.

Hm. Strange. 

Upon realising that he reached Ward 9 just a few seconds ago, Dejun smiles brightly to himself. A fingerprint scanner? Are they _kidding_ him?

Without much consideration for property damage, Dejun scans the area for security cameras before using the screwdriver in his utility belt to prise the metal off of the plastic wall. What people don't consider about fingerprint scanners is that they're incredibly easy to crack. It's about flicking a switch, essentially, just with your uniquely-shaped fingerprint. 

It does cross Dejun's mind that this is a bit too easy, but then he quickly realises that he is himself, after all. With this in mind, he fiddles around with the wires for a bit, essentially playing around with the formation they need to take. Dejun just _feels_ machinery in the way that others understand people – paradoxically, Dejun just does what feels natural. 

After about five minutes, Dejun smiles brightly to himself as the door slides open without any issue. Is it that easy to hack into classified areas? Maybe. 

"Oh my _God_ ," Dejun says to himself. This is not what he was expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being MIA for a few weeks!!! i had twenty one (21) exams....are you kidding me....but they're all done now so we can move on with our lives.
> 
> also exciting news (for me) but im seeing nct!!!!!! so that's very good news :))


	6. Chapter 6

**1**

It's a plan. 

Actually, it's not a plan in the slightest – Jeonghan has never _properly_ done something like this, but it's the least he can do. Ever since Taeyong went missing and Ten died, Jaejoong has been in a _royally_ bitchy mood. Though Jeonghan isn't exactly the jealous type, it was pretty obvious from the get-go that Jaejoong liked both of them, each, much more than him – they were _efficient_ , smart, and got the job done in record time. 

Jeonghan, on the other hand...He isn't bad, and never has been, at what he does, but he isn't them two, and the difference in Jaejoong's attitude is ridiculously obvious. To say that his boss, a fuck-knows-how-old contractor from fuck-knows-where, is still annoyed about Ten disobeying orders is an understatement. The problem is, why did he ever expect Ten would obey him? At the time, Jeonghan had thought how terribly obvious it was that Ten was just using Jaejoong – and, to give credit to him, it worked.

Ten always got what he wanted. Such a shame about the whole, um, death. Jeonghan supposes that it should serve as a warning to stop carrying out the same elicit thievery and general anti-Government activities that Jaejoong provides him, but come on. Life would suck without the thrill. 

And now, this is the ultimate thrill – one that is likely going to get him killed, Jaejoong had said (with an alarming lack of emotion on his face), but isn't that the charm of it? Kill or be killed? Besides, the satisfaction of wiping the smug smile off the figurehead of intergalactic brutality is enough to get Jeonghan hard with excitement. 

The monetary reward on Jaejoong's part is considerably persuasive, the illusively rich bastard that he is, but the idea that _he_ , Jeonghan Yoon, could be the one who freed the world of Commissioner Park's fucked-up regime of broken jaws and executions without trial, is so mind-blowingly insane that Jeonghan just can't say no, can he? 

And yeah, it's probably not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things – there are probably fail-safes in place for these kinds of assassinations (it's not like there are any urgent shortages of sadistic Government officials twitching for a promotion), but the idea is more than just a death. It's a rebellion against the system; a revolutionary movement, something that could equally spark the flame of peace and war. 

Technically speaking, the seven Government-regulated galaxies are peaceful. Felinus is the heart of it all – where the palaces of Prince Taemin are located, where the majority of the universe's population is located – but there are six other galaxies, small and seemingly insignificant. Due to being somewhat out of the spotlight, most of the universe's cruelest practices occur on faraway planets and systems. People care, but not really. To the uneducated citizen of Felinus, these galaxies aren't controlled by the Government. 

But they are, which confirms the worst of Jeonghan's suspicions – the Government doesn't care. Nobody really knows how they took control of thousands of planets and moons in the first place – it's just like _there was nothing, and then there was the Government_. Sure, that might sound fine, but how? Democracy doesn't come from nothing. There had to be foundations of civilisation beforehand, ones that the Government swept up and covered in steel? Everything is so fast, so well-maintained, so _perfect_ , that the uninterested person is perfectly content to let things be.

Perfection is a difficult concept to grasp. If one was to look at the pretty propaganda that the Government pumps out, of satisfied workers and rapidly developing technology, sure. Everything is perfect. Jeonghan, who has lived outside of a fantasy, knows that this just isn't the case. 

Poverty, on a scale that spans billions. Police brutality. A complete lack of democracy. Government conspiracy that smothers suspicion completely. Millions of unregulated and uncared for people working in disgusting conditions to provide for the expensive tastes of the very rich – what, do people on Sairaala think that the building is built from the materials collected by fair and well-paid workers? Hah. Fat chance. With the Government covering everything up as they do, the general consensus of the masses is what they don't know won't hurt them.

Coming back to Jaejoong, though, Jeonghan doesn't really know where he stands with the guy. He has no origin story, no history, and is just the perfect analogy for an enigma. Jeonghan has checked every available set of records for a trace of Jaejoong, but nothing exists – he wasn't born. If he was, Jeonghan doesn't know when, how or where. The thing that makes that all so strange is how ridiculously rich he is – the very definition of spoilt rotten. But how did he get this money in the first place, unregulated wealth that he _so kindly_ shares in small amounts to the best and the brightest killers, thieves, and hackers in all seven galaxies?

It's strange. Jeonghan knows that he should hate the guts of Jaejoong for being _so_ rich, but he's actually kind of...not terrible, per se. Also, the fact that he's lasted so long without being killed by the Government is pretty fucking impressive. He lives in luxury, in a renovated cruise ship essentially lined in gold, and doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone unless they piss him off. Commissioner Park is unlucky enough to have fallen into that list – whether this is actually about his reign of horror is debatable, but Jeonghan just hopes it is so. Most likely, Jaejoong is upset about some sort of sex thing. That's what most of his worries and concerns boil down to, anyway.

So, it's a plan. Kill Commissioner Park, collect the money, fuck off to some sunny little planet where Jeonghan can pretend he wasn't the one who fanned the flames of war. It's not like peace is the better alternative – especially since their _peace_ is so far from what the original definition of the word suggests.

**2**

Taeil has realised that he has two options – hit his head against this wall until he dies of blunt force trauma or, if he's too scared to do _that_ , get shot. 

Without getting too emotional, Taeil knows that his life has been too short. All of the effort he put into becoming a doctor was fucking worthless, and he'll never see his family ever again. He has no way of contacting them, and Jungsoo doesn't seem like the type of person who would allow him a last phone call. And fuck, he's so alone. While he feels happy that Lucas is able to live out his life to the fullest, it would be nice to have somebody to talk to – but _hey_ , that's not the way it was destined to be. 

It's okay, though. He can live with himself – he doesn't have long to ponder on his guilt, regardless of how painful it feels right now.

His cell is very cold – and Taeil really, _really_ does not like the cold. As he suspected, there's no obvious way of escaping this place. No way at all, in fact. All he can do is sit and wait it out, counting the minutes in his mind without anything better to do. And what Jungsoo said has stuck with him, and…

Taeil doesn't know what to do. Without Lucas, he has no unfounded optimism that allowed them to escape in the first place. If they hadn't have left, Taeil wouldn't be about to die. Then again, wouldn't Lucas have suffered? In essence, this is his sacrifice. The only thing he's done in life is save the life of some well-meaning miner, and, chances are, he won't even be remembered for that. 

Laying down on the metal bed, Taeil thinks about Lucas again. Will he be okay? What will he do once he's better? He damn well hopes Jaehyun has fulfilled his promise to protect Lucas and make sure he's well again, but the chances are they're probably both dead. God. It's not that he doesn't trust Jaehyun, but Taeil supposes that the world is cruel enough to take away everything that matters to him without even a second thought. One hopes that at least Lucas died happily, but how ridiculous is that – he had pneumonia, after all, and he probably died with his lungs swollen with fluid and, just for good measure, a bullet in his chest. 

What a waste of time. Taeil wishes that he'd never have even bothered.

Instead, he focuses on the light in the room. A bright strip light – not very advanced technology, but sleek in design. At least it isn't dark. Taeil isn't generally a fan of places wherein which he's stuck, but _dark_ places where he's stuck? A nightmare – well, that's not so far from the truth, right? 

So he just stares, without any real purpose or feeling. It's a light. What more is there to say about that?

And then – and then it happens. The light flickers for just a second, and although Taeil wants to brush it off as nothing, even he knows that ships like this don't lose power, not even for a second. Does it even matter, though? Malfunctions occur. Besides, if they end up crashing into something and the ship turns into a ball of flames, will it even matter to Taeil? He's about to die anyway, isn't he?

The light turns off, and Taeil is bathed in darkness.

Fuck. This really _is_ a nightmare. The engine beneath the metal floor stops vibrating, and there is nothing more terrifying than the heavy wash of silence.

"Fuck me," Taeil mutters to himself. Carefully, he pads the wall to where he supposes the door should be, a slightly lifted sheet of metal, and it slides upon. His theory was correct – if everything has shut down, won't the locks have done so also? Of course, that does leave him vulnerable to attack from a handful of angry Garan protesters. It's nice that they're fighting for their freedom, but Taeil is terrified they'll take him for the enemy. 

He's running the risk of getting shot even sooner, but Taeil has been drained so dry of hope that he's okay with taking such a risk. At this point, nothing matters.

So, what happened? Taeil had assumed that they were heading towards the capital of Felinus, Tulipalo, but maybe not – why would they just shut down in the middle of nowhere? He sighs, and walks down the dark corridor, utilising his muscle memory very carefully.

There are no guards. There should be guards, but where are they? Taeil overheard Jungsoo saying that a few people were lost in the fight in Gara, but there are no guards whatsoever. Swallowing, he spots a light down the left corner – and, like a cat, he follows it. What else can he do? Sit and wait like a good prisoner? 

When he draws closer to said light, he realises that it is bleeding out from the control room. Has he been there before? No, he hasn't, but now is a better time than any to find out. Right. His hands are trembling, but Taeil keeps on walking, keeps on panicking, keeps on –

"Do you have any idea of what a _silent_ massacre is meant to be, buddy?" a man asks. The door opens fully, and Taeil is immediately met with a very tall, tanned man with a face that seems a bit too amicable to be associated with the word massacre. So, what? Is he going to die? Who is this guy? "Jeez. You look like shit."

"Oh, you're so nice," Taeil scoffs.

"I'm Mingyu," he says. "And since I'm really nice, I'm not going to kill you."

"Why? You don't know that you can trust me!" 

Mingyu screws his face up. "Huh? Do you wanna die?"

"Not particularly, but I'm wondering where you draw the line for killing," Taeil explains. "Anyway...I'll just be going back to my, um, cell." He can't really be bothered with any of this – it's too confusing, and kind of feels like he's in a fever dream. "...So…"

"Hey, I didn't see you on Gara," Mingyu laughs, scratching the back of his neck. From the control room behind him, he hears an ear-bleedingly load scream. So, that's something. How is he so ridiculously calm? Obviously, he's in on whatever this is, but what is this? "...So, what did _you_ do?"

Is this, like, small talk? What? Taeil is glad that he isn't dead, but this is just plain weird.

"Uh, it doesn't matter," Taeil says. He runs his hands across his bare forearms, feeling the coldest he's ever been in a long while, and smiles in a way that is just plain uncomfortable. "And you?"

"Just your classic anti-police murder mission. I'm a contract killer," Mingyu explains. "See, I wanted to kill Commisioner Park, but y'know, Jaejoong was, like, _super_ insistent that Jeonghan did that, so. How unfair!"

"Yeah, yeah. Definitely. How do I get off this ship?"

"Don't you want to see Jungsoo die? Jeonghan is trying to set up the, um, thingy…" He bites his lip. "I like guns, not computers, so I don't really know. Anyway, the ship was heading towards Sariaala, so I guess we could just drop you off there? You'd have to wait for a bit. Jaejoong was really insistent that we kill Commissioner Park here to avoid, um, mess."

"Why Sariaala?" Taeil asks. "My friend might be there!"

"Oh, really? Woah, man. Well, that's really good," Mingyu says, smiling. "So –"

"Mingyu!" a voice shouts, presumably Jeonghan. 

"Join me?" Mingyu laughs. Taeil supposes he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter, and follows after the tall, strange, slightly wall-mannered man. This is an odd situation – Taeil wonders how somebody like _this_ , polite and pretty nice, is a killer. A fucking killer. But can you say that they don't deserve it? Death? They're just evil motherfuckers, and Taeil can't deny that the idea that Commissioner Park's assassination is – well, appealing. 

But isn't that just his personal bias? Doesn't he have a family? Is this okay – like, really?

"Why is he going to die?" Taeil asks. Everything has changed, hasn't it? And the people they must have killed to get in here – did they deserve to die? If they were like Jaehyun, then certainly not. Is the distinction between prisoners and captors that clear? "Is that morally, um, okay?" 

And yes, maybe it is, maybe it's not. Jungsoo is tied to a chair with rope and is crying – his back must hurt. Taeil doesn't even know what to think; he doesn't even know why he's here. He doesn't even know where to look. Why is Mingyu smiling? He's smiling way, way too much. 

Jeonghan is strangely pretty, Taeil notices, as he sets up a camera-type thing across the room. "I don't know why it has to be like this," Jeonghan sighs. "Viva la revolution, or something like that…"

"I have a family!" Commissioner Park screams.

"So did I," Jeonghan says. "But you work for an organisation that killed them. Essentially." He shudders. "But it's fine. Your death means more than just a death, if that makes sense. The police represent cruelty incarnate, and you…I can't take it this seriously. Mingyu." Why is he laughing? If he's a psycho, he's a hot psycho.

"I'm confused," Taeil says, which is pretty much how he's been feeling for the past, say, thirty circles. Just straight confusion. "You don't have to kill him."

"Alright, nerd, are you saying we should pass up on the opportunity for a million credits?" Mingyu says.

"Split halfway, of course," Jeonghan clarifies. Once the camera clicks after some adjustment, Jeonghan smiles so brightly and waves his hands at the screen. "Hi, Jaejoongie. Wait, are we sending this to him, or  
– anyway, this is Commissioner Park."

Taeil bites his lip. "Why are you filming this?"

"So Jaejoong can wank off to it, probably," Mingyu sighs. 

"I should have known this was fucking Jaejoong!" Commissioner Park screams. Jeonghan raises his eyebrows at this, but pulls out a small, sly knife from his utility belt regardless. "I'm going to fucking kill that bastard –" And Jeonghan, who seems utterly unphased by this profession, simply plugs the knife into his shoulder and swallows his screams. 

"Look, whatever you two have got against each other, it's none of our business," Mingyu explains. "But we're doing a job, _so_. Not really our fault, buddy."

"Who's Jaejoong?" Taeil asks.

"Uh, a guy," Mingyu says. "So, what are you going to do when you get to Sariaala? We can guarantee you'll get there, but considering they've put the place under martial control, and you're a criminal, whatever you did, is that what you really want?"

"Why Sariaala? Is that why this ship was headed towards there?" Taeil asks. Honestly, it's kind of fucking difficult to try and pretend he's having a _normal_ conversation with this guy when most of what he's hearing is the poorly muffled screams of Commissioner Park being prodded and poked all over with a tidy knife, in and out of his body like a pin cushion. 

"Yep," Mingyu says, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Something about a…" He screws his face up again, trying to remember. "A guy called Nine. Or something."

"No use pretending you don't know who he is," Jeonghan scoffs. "He betrayed us, like Taeyong did."

"Okay. A guy called Ten who should totally be dead, who we all saw die, isn't dead, right," Mingyu groans. "Either way, Jaejoong wants to put him on the right track again – you know, the _right_ track. It's not like Ten is gonna die, so Jaejoong'll probably just beat the living shit out of him, or get me to do it…"

"Jeez. How can somebody die and not die at the same time?" Taeil asks.

"Beats me," Mingyu laughs, and Commissioner Park lets out a particularly poignant wail. For the sake of his own stomach, Taeil doesn't look. "Anyway, are you any good at killing or stealing? Maybe Jaejoong could find some work for you, considering you're not exactly the most – well, you're probably gonna be executed, right, so I reckon we could – or if you don't want –"

"I'm fine," Taeil sighs. "All I need to do is find my friend and get back to Earth II, thanks. Everything will be fine when I'm home."

"Sure. If that's what you want. We're probably just gonna cruise on this ship once this dude is all dead and shit, so just kick back, relax, y'know," Mingyu explains. "Beats being dead any day, right?" 

Maybe, but Taeil isn't completely sure.

Suddenly, the comm in the Commissioner's pocket starts buzzing wildly. "I'll get it," Mingyu says, and pulls the comm out, as well as a hand stained with red. "How am I meant to sound?"

"Stern. Sexually repressed," Jeonghan suggests.

"Ooh, gotcha," Mingyu agrees. Taeil can't quite fully hear what is said through the comm, it just sounds like a lot of white noise, but he does hear Mingyu say, "Well, don't shoot them. Just wait. We're coming."

"Huh?" Jeonghan asks.

"They've got two government traitors cornered," Mingyu says, shrugging. "Could be interesting. Ew, why does he have no eyes?"

**3**

When you're about to die, all you can think about is how you're going to die. Only that. Nothing else crosses your mind but _oh my god, I'm going to die_.

"Jaehyun, I'm sorry," Kun says.

"I know you are," Jaehyun says. His hands are shaking around the blaster as the armed policeman in front of them speaks lowly on his comm device. Whatever this is, it can't be good – the man looks as though he's asking for some sort of permission, and Jaehyun knows how these things go. As things go, dying in a small space in the middle of nowhere is not the way Jaehyun wants to die. 

Not even an execution. Damn, Commissioner Park really _doesn't_ like him – where's the justice? And Kun, who basically is the nicest person Jaehyun has ever met, doesn't deserve any of this shit. Not only is he going to kill himself with his own stupidity but he's going to kill somebody else, too. 

"It's your lucky day," the policeman scoffs. "Commissioner Park wants to see you two."

"Oh, we'll get a proper farewell," Jaehyun scoffs.

The blaster clicks again. "Don't be such a fucking moron," the policeman says again. And yeah, Kun agrees – he doesn't want to tempt fate and die before his time, even though he'll die anyway. "Walk."

And so they walk. Sariaala is still completely empty, the streets isolated and cold, and having about five blasters pointed towards his face isn't exactly embarrassing if nobody's there to see it. Kun's hands are trembling but he can't say anything, do anything, to get out of this situation. He's going to die, and he can't even tell his crew – but they'll be fine, of course they will. Tzuyu and Jieqiong will get them out alive.

Kun blinks. "What's up with Sariaala?"

The policeman beside him scoffs. "Martial law. Somebody tipped us off that a very special guest would be coming this way. Garans are walking scum, but they do have good hearing."

"Who do you mean? I'm nothing special," Jaehyun says.

The policeman rolls his eyes. "Not you, dumbass."

And that's all they're told before the police walk Jaehyun and Kun to a far-too-familiar ship to Jaehyun, and a terrifying monstrosity of metal and imperial power to Kun. The large steel doors slide open slowly, folding out onto the concrete ground. 

Jaehyun is expecting to die. Kun supposes he is, too.

What Jaehyun _isn't_ expecting to see is Taeil – and two others, one beautiful and tall, the other pretty and – not short, per se, but not as tall as the other. And the tall one – who Jaehyun is, quite frankly, _very_ attracted to – is holding a head. 

Oh. Right. Okay, that's –

"Hey!" the short one says, excitedly, waving his hands. "We're going to kill you all now, if you don't mind."

"What?" one of the policemen shouts. "Is this a coup? What the fuck do you want –" And sure, they were true to their word, they are killing them. At least they're honest about the situation. Jaehyun can't really complain, though – despite not knowing Taeil so well, he's missed him, and it doesn't matter how much of a massacre is currently happening, not really. 

"Jaejoong is gonna be real mad," the tall one says. 

Taeil smiles so earnestly at Jaehyun that his heart swells with excitement, and he immediately runs to embrace the older as tightly as he can. The idea that he survived through what was certain death is so – well, Jaehyun just feels _guilty_. But Taeil, quite clearly, has forgiven him, wrapping him in his warm arms and rubbing his wet eyes into his shoulder. 

"We should leave," the short one says. "We are actually gonna get killed, so –"

"We can't," Kun says. "My friends are in the hospital, and my ship – holy _shit_ , they're here for Ten!"

"What about Lucas? Is he in the hospital?" Taeil asks, quickly.

"Yes, I – well, we split up," Jaehyun says. "God, I'm so stupid. I shouldn't have even suggested splitting up in the first place. But he'll be fine, we didn't see any police near the hospital."

"Good, good," Taeil sighs. "Mingyu, Jeonghan, you can't leave. I thought you were looking for Ten, and that guy –"

"Kun," Jaehyun corrects.

"You two are looking for Ten?" Kun snaps.

"It's not, like, a personal grudge," Mingyu sighs, holding his hands up. "Jaejoong is just pissed off at Ten for living despite dying and not telling him how he did that. Also for stealing from the Crown Prince. Also for –"

"Well, you're not fucking taking him," Kun says. "He's my friend, and I'm not going to just let _you_ –"

"Jesus, dude, we just saved your life," Jeonghan says. "If you get in our way, we'll kill you too. Jaejoong is just –"

"Well, _I'll_ speak to Jaejoong," Kun snaps. Feisty, Jaehyun thinks. "And I'll tell him exactly what I think of your idea. I appreciate that you saved my life, but I made a promise to save Ten's, too."

Mingyu raises his eyebrows at Jeonghan. "Do you smell a romance?"

"I thought he was fucking Taeyong, in all fairness," Jeonghan mutters. "Anyway, you don't wanna have to deal with Jaejoong. He's a bit of a looney."

"Hey, don't say that! But it's fair. All we want is Ten, and then we, and _you_ , can move along with your lives," Mingyu says. "And Taeil. It was nice talking to you. I hope you find your friend – Lucas, was it? – but the offer still stands, for both you _and_ him. Jaejoong is pretty much the pimp of the universe."

"He's still capitalist scum," Jeonghan says. "Hah, joke. Anyway, Mingyu is right. And what about you?" He raises his eyes at Jaehyun. "You're the ex-police officer, right? Taeil was telling us about you. If you want, you could come with us."

"No. I'm helping Kun," Jaehyun states.

"And I – I'll help you, Jaehyun," Taeil says. "I trust you. Whoever this Ten is, I want to help you."

Mingyu sighs. "Then it's you against us, unfortunately." He lifts up his gun. 

Jeonghan grabs his arm. "But do you really _want_ to hurt them? On what principle would we be killing them? Neither of us like Jaejoong, and – fuck, he's gonna kill me – but Ten was our _friend_."

"You were the one who said he betrayed us!" Mingyu shouts.

"I was being _dramatic_ ," Jeonghan sighs. "Look, we can protect you from the police. We have blasters and know how to use them. Ha. Also, you look kind of pathetic." He smiles again. "Vamos!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back.......im back again with chapter 7. seriously tho this chapter has been the bane of my existence and although im not completely happy with it i think it honestly got me into writing this story again.
> 
> hope ward 9 is all you thought it would be and more!!

**1**

Yuta realises quickly that he's never felt so tired in his life – the kind of tiredness that cuts through your bones and makes everything spin around you as you stand, as stable as you can make your legs (which desperately, _desperately_ want to crumble to the ground), and can only be caused by investing knockout drugs of any sense. 

It's not that Yuta has been knocked out before (and he's really not aiming to make a habit out of it) but it's pretty fucking obvious from the way he literally wants to fall down, vomit and _die_ from the moment he wakes up. Not only does he not feel the important things, like the fact he hasn't taken in water or eaten food for even a day, but he doesn't feel well-rested at all. The least he could get out of this was a fucking long nap, one that reset his body clock from many all-nighters spent with his nose delved in all the information he could find about the construction about this place.

So, then. Dongyoung. 

"I fucking hate you," Yuta spits, but his mouth feels cottony and dry, his words packing no punch. Number one – metal hospital beds don't make comfortable resting places; number two – the idea that Dongyoung can just do what he likes because Yuta may or may not be very attracted him is _wrong_ , and anything that feels even half as bad as he feels right now is not worth going through for some dick.

Dongyoung, who is busying himself by slapping a glass screen and saying _work!_ at it, doesn't really know how to respond. Like, isn't this what Yuta wanted in the first place? He's aware of the other circumstances and how this might not be ideal for anybody (offering a clear, succinct explanation isn't as easy as one might expect) but, in the end, won't this make him happy? Will his soul feel fulfilled for having been in Ward 9? No, probably not. But it was worth trying.

Not that Dongyoung did this to sate Yuta's burning curiosity, though. Don't be stupid. The mere fact that Yuta had been so dedicated in uprooting the seeds of corruption in the Government's plans is enough to get him killed, and more often than not, the execution is not an act of swift justice. To prove a point, sometimes the death can last days at a time, and Dongyoung is impressed by the variety of ways the Government has created to make people suffer.

Dongyoung has his own special torture. Kill him and he doesn't particularly care, but not – no. It doesn't bear thinking about. The only reason he's here, sticking in this out until the end, is because he _has_ to be. He wasn't given a choice, and neither was Jeno.

Dongyoung might as well do one good thing in his whole career, right? Yuta doesn't have to die, and it's not like Dongyoung is the worst company for the rest of time. "You're awake," the younger says, "are you hungry?"

Yuta pushes aside his upset and focuses on self-preservation, nodding curtly. He waits, swinging his legs off of the metal slate, as Dongyoung collects some food from the hospital canteen, and thinks about escaping, but if he tried to run his legs would probably be a bit useless. His arms, too. It would be a body-wide failure. So, then.

He doesn't have much a choice but look over the room. It doesn't look like nothing, there are _things_ , but in Yuta's many years of a being a nurse, he's never seen this type of medical equipment. It's just, like, a lot of white, and Yuta is confused. There are plastic sheets marking off a back section, and the gleam of metal meeting light catches Yuta's eye from behind the sheet.

His legs aren't _that_ weak, right? He can make that distance, after all, and his curiosity is killing him. Besides, after kidnapping him, Dongyoung better start feeling very lenient with Yuta. 

It takes a while to remember how to walk (one foot forward, then the other) and his head is still fuzzy, but he eventually reaches the plastic sheet and pushes one of the sections back to reveal...something. And Yuta's not all too sure about what it is, but it doesn't look good.

As _not good_ as a thing can look, especially in Yuta's opinion. 

Two metal drums are stuck to the back wall, unimaginably huge in size, and they seem to be connected to the traipsing pipework into a – bath-type thing, filled with an odd-coloured liquid, milky in colour but slightly thicker in texture. For all Yuta knows, it could be dangerous, but he sticks his fingers it nonetheless. 

This is all to distract from the worse thing that Yuta has seen all year (in all of his life, even) – two people, who aren't exactly much older than Yuta himself, strapped to their own metal sheet, just like he was, and Yuta did think that the bed seemed out of place. There's a third empty one next to the bath-thing, and an empty space where a fourth should be. 

It doesn't matter. Yuta feels sick, and his mind starts racing. What is this? Why are these people passed out, sleeping so peacefully? Yuta wouldn't be sleeping peacefully if he was strapped to what is essentially a cold table (if he wasn't heavily drugged, after all) but hey, maybe they are. Maybe this is what Dongyoung is going to do to him –

Thinking on his most primal instinct to run, Yuta tries very hard to shake one of the men awake. He's – pretty, and it kind of pisses him off because he feels like he knows this face, right, but doesn't also. He shakes him hard, knowing full-well that if he's drugged it'll do all but nothing, but it produces no result. 

Until it _does_ , and Yuta can hear rattling at the door at the same time. It could be Dongyoung, but it seems like an awful amount of fuss for somebody who knows the password – and yet it's not. Not Dongyoung, but some sharp-faced teen that is, eyes wide, scanning the place. He clearly notices the back section before Yuta did, and paces towards it before the two make eye contact.

"I know how this looks," Yuta says, and doesn't do much at all except reach for a scalpel that's balanced on what appears to be Dongyoung's work desk. Does he? How the fuck does this look? "But it's nothing to do with me. I was kidnapped, too!"

"I – I, um, what?" the boy asks.

"I was kidnapped," Yuta says, "like, the whole pizzazz. But now that you're here, you can contact the authorities, can't you?" 

The boy raises an eyebrow at him, forcing Yuta to reconsider.

"...Okay, not _that_ ," Yuta mutters.

He hears Dongyoung make a quiet, appalled noise at the state of the door after the boy brutalized its system, and then immediately watches him grasp for his blaster. "Yuta, why are you such _trouble_?"

"I'm not going to become – well, whatever _they_ are!" Yuta shouts. Dongyoung considers this, but busies himself with shutting the door to the best of his ability. Nobody more needs to know about this, with an appalled Yuta and teenage vandal/explorer on his hands. It's hard enough to explain anyway! 

A scalpel is really no match for a blaster, but there's a key difference between Yuta and Dongyoung – the younger wouldn't shoot, but Yuta would have no problem plugging his knife into Dongyoung if he had to. 

"I know it looks bad," Dongyoung says, "but I can explain, Yuta. And you are…?"

"De–" he replies. "No! Wait. My name is Xiaojun." He furrows his brows. He gestures to Yuta. "Can I see what's behind you?" The plastic sheet obscures the scene into blurry colours, but Yuta is inclined to let Xiaojun just bear witness to it himself. While Dongyoung still has his blaster trained on Yuta, Xiaojun slips behind the sheet and immediately starts yelling. 

Dongyoung stares at the ground. "What have I done," he groans. "It's not what you think it is, Yuta –"

The fact that Xiaojun, a boy who seems quite earnest in his expressions, runs out of the section screaming, "Kunhang! Kunhang!" seems to paint a rather different picture, but Yuta can't really understand it either way. Here's what he's going for – Xiaojun is upset, and Dongyoung has (most likely) done something horrible. 

And imagine _knowing_ a person in there...the natural assumption would be that either they're dead or suffering, and the subsequent reaction would be anger.  
.  
But Xiaojun doesn't get angry – at least, not in the way that _Yuta_ would if, say, Jaehyun was in that situation. He just stares in Dongyoung's eyes and starts crying.

Which is – well, a thing. This whole situation couldn't have gone any worse. Xiaojun is crying, Yuta is stressed, and Dongyoung looks very hard-done-by. He drops his blaster and says, "You've read this all wrong. I think we've got to start over –"

"That's my friend!" Xiaojun sobs. "That's my friend. What's wrong with him? Is he sick? Why is he here? I have to tell Kun-ge –" He wipes his tears and reaches for his comm, but Dongyoung interrupts him. 

"Comms don't work here," Dongyoung sighs. "Sorry. Is he your –" He sucks in a breath, trying hard to find the words but failing. "I'm sorry. None of this was my intention. I never wanted this!"

Yuta grips his scalpel. "You're sick in the head," he says. "What are you doing? Why are you doing it?"

Dongyoung's eyes fall down to the ground. "I can't tell you why, or really _what_ ," he mutters. "It's a long story, but one that you probably won't be alive to here. They're going to come in here and kill me, you, Xiaojun, my work, my brother –" He pauses. "I need to say goodbye."

"Why can't you just tell us what's going on? Why do we have to die?" Yuta asks.

"Well…" Dongyoung bites his lip. "To cut a long story short, I'm pretty much fucked. I have no choice but to work on this project. There have been so many failures that I…" He pauses. "I have blood on my hands. But it's all for Jeno-ya. He means the world to me, more than anybody else. It's my fault, everything is, and I thought I could make it work and everything would turn out okay, but…"

"Failures?" Xiaojun asks. His eyes are watery, and tears are streaking his cheeks. "Please, can you wake up Kunhang?"

"Both of them were just given to me. I don't ask questions, just take orders. It's probably –" He sighs. Yuta watches as Dongyoung uses careful hands to remove the bonds around Kunhang's wrists and ankles. "Who is he to you?"

"My best friend," Xiaojun says, his fingers pressing into Kunhang's pale arm. "How is he? What are you trying to do?"

"Kunhang is...remarkably receptive…" Dongyoung trails off. "...in a way that Yong isn't. I think it's on account of the fact that Kunhang isn't human."

"Hm?" Xiaojun says. "He's not _human_?"

"Yes, quite clearly," Dongyoung says. "I…" He pauses. "I just think that you should probably say goodbye. I went to get food, but – but, well, there are armed police officers everywhere. Once they realise that the cover is blown for this operation, everybody involved will be shot dead."

Xiaojun blinks, and presses his head to the warm centre of Kunhang's chest. "I love you," he says. "I love you so much, Kunhang."

Dongyoung goes to his screen and presses a few buttons quickly. "There are electronic receptors in his head," he says, like it's nothing. "Implanting them was…"

"In his brain?" Xiaojun says, staring at Kunhang's face as though he could see through his skull and look at receptors himself. "What does that mean?"

"Basic things. I can control when he sleeps, when he wakes up, by activating and deactivating parts of the brain," Dongyoung explains. "I was working on transplanting memories, too. I might as well wake up Yong as well, right?"

The _waking up_ is about as natural as you'd expect from somebody with an electronic thing (that isn't Yuta's field of medical science) in their head telling them to do. Both men jolt upwards, with Yong (the other one, the one that Yuta can't help but think is amazingly hot) wide-eyed and almost fearful-looking.

Well. Who could blame him?

"Doyoung," Yong says. "How long have I been asleep?" He scratches the back of neck. "I feel like I'm dead."

"You might be soon," says Yuta.

"Nothing quite like starting the day with some gold, old-fashioned positivity," Dongyoung mutters. "Either way, he's right. Unless you can think of a way of magically creating a distraction so we're not hopelessly murdered on the spot, then I reckon we're pretty screwed."

"Why do the Government care so much about this place?" Yuta asks. "You haven't even told us what it is yet."

"I'm working on cloning," Dongyoung says, plainly, likes it's nothing. "Why do you all look so shocked? I thought I already told you."

**2**

"We need to get all of the police officers into one big crowd," Jeonghan says. They're situated in the control panel of the appropriated police ship, and Jeonghan is spinning in his chair, thinking hard. "But that's a fuck ton of people, and they're all pretty focused on one thing – getting Ten."

"Well, then," Mingyu says. "Let's give them Ten."

"We're not doing that!" Kun says. "No. No way."

"Not like _that_ ," Mingyu sighs. "But in a sense where we get Ten to do something big and dramatic, which is well within his ability, and then kill all the officers." He blinks. "Do we know how many officers there are?"

Jeonghan bites his fingernail. "About three thousand," he says. "Not that bad. I've taken out more."

"More than three thousand?" Taeil asks. "Really?"

"Nah. Just kidding." He shrugs his shoulders. "That's far too many. I don't think we have enough manpower."

"Well," Jaehyun says. "There is another solution. The chips in the back of their necks can be controlled from command. We could make them all pass out, and there would be no need for kidding."

"Are you hearing this hippie?" Mingyu scoffs.

"I'm not a hippie!" Jaehyun protests. "That way, we don't have to risk Ten's life doing something ridiculous – we can just go into the hospital, get our friends, and then leave. That way – well, we don't have to kill, and it'll only take twenty minutes or so?"

"That sounds remarkably simple," Jeonghan says. "But also, like, don't you think it might be more fun if we killed them?"

"Fun?" Taeil asks.

"Fun!" Mingyu cheers. "But we don't have to if it makes you upset."

"Yeah, it does," Kun says. "Let's just do what Jaehyun says, okay? I'm not fond of the killing."

It's easy to do, since Mingyu professes that this computer system was "made for dummies", but the problem is that Kun only _just_ realises that he left Ten on the ship with Jieqiang, Sicheng, and Yangyang.

Jieqiong – well, she's tough. And she could fight (if she wanted to) but Yangyang...Well. That's a completely different story. Kun was just so in his own head that he forgot about everybody else – and he feels like an asshole for that, even if it was less than hour or so. And Sicheng? Sicheng wouldn't fight for him, even if Ten was on the very end of a blade.

He doesn't say anything, though. He makes his way back to the ship with Jaehyun and Taeil, while Jeonghan and Mingyu bicker about something that Taeil doesn't understand ("I'm _telling_ you, Jeonghan, Luna is the sexiest programmable voice for a ship!" "Idiot, it's _obviously_ Yuri!") so he decides to just stick with Jaehyun. At least Taeil can understand Jaehyun – they have the same common goal, with Lucas in mind. 

He's kind of fed up anyway, tired and hungry and lonely. 

"Maybe you're running up a fever," Jaehyun says. "We can steal some medicine in the hospital, okay?"

The ship sounds eerily quiet, and it feels – off. Kun is so used to Sicheng yelling at him as soon as he gets on that it shocks him when he doesn't. In fact, Sicheng is nowhere to be found. Instead, he walks into the medical room to find Yanyang clutching _Sicheng's_ blaster, which Kun knows he'd never give to just anybody, at the end of the bed Ten is sleeping on. 

"Sicheng left," Yangyang immediately says. "He went to go look for Jieqiong."

"I thought I told you to stick together," Kun groans. "Fuck. You shouldn't have let him go."

"But he gave me this," Yangyang says, the gun looking heavy in his hand. "So I can defend myself. He also said to let Ten die no matter the cost, but I'm not so sure about that one."

"What would make Sicheng go out? Looking for Jieqiong is one thing, but he knows better than to just leave _you_ ," Kun sighs. "Do you even know how to use that?"

"Kind of?" Yangyang answers.

"Like father, like son," Jaehyun mutters. 

"You look too young to have had kids," Taeil says, in awe, "what's your skincare routine?"

"He's not my son!" Kun defends. "Next time Sicheng does something dumb, just tell him –"

"But he said you're not the captain anymore, so it didn't matter what you thought," Yangyang defends. "Sorry. But it is true, right? I don't mind if you want me to call you Captain still, but you did give the badge to Tzuyu." He sighs deeply. "Ten is okay, by the way." 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's good," Kun sighs, "and I'm glad you're okay, too. You're a good kid."

"Love you," Yangyang says, smiling brightly. 

"Love you too," Kun agrees, ruffling Yangyang's hair affectionately.

Jaehyun, afraid to impose on the moment, simply says, "Why would Jieqiong leave, though?"

"I don't know. She was talking on her comm, and then she just left," Yangyang says, struggling. "Is, um, thingy okay? I can't remember his name. I'm sorry."

"Lucas?" Kun asks. "I hope so. We haven't been able to get in touch with him _or_ Tzuyu, or Dejun for that matter." He sighs. "Alright. I'm going to wait here with Yangyang and Ten, and you two –"

"I can wait, actually," Jaehyun says. "Face it. If the plan to make the officers pass out doesn't work, I'm more use in a fight than you are." There's always a chance of more officers being deployed who won't have been affected by the nerve attack, and Ten seems to be the number priority at the moment.

It was surprisingly more difficult than Mingyu had expected to make the officers have their chips deactivate and their bodies deactivate also, but he had assured Kun that he could make it work. Since all of the living officers are in the hospital building, Kun actually has no clue whether he's walking into a death trap or not. They'd put on stolen uniforms just in case, but whether or not Kun possesses the cruel swagger of a police officer is an entirely different question.

"Great," Taeil says. "Fine. Fine, okay. I'm okay with a blaster." He really is _not_ okay with a blaster. "Why don't I just steal a doctor's uniform? I think I could play that role more convincingly."

"We don't have time," Kun says, but the suggestion is kind of out there. "Wait, why?"

"I'm a doctor," Taeil explains. "Dr. Moon?"

"I'm...unfamiliar," Kun says.

"I wrote my thesis on Vena dust," Taeil says, "which, in the long run, kind of turned out ironically."

"Venala," Kun whispers, far too familiar with the name. "Okay. We should go, but –" He swallows. "Thank you, Jaehyun."

"We're friends. It's what we do, okay?" Jaehyun says. "You don't have to thank me."

**3**

"Cloning?" Yuta shouts.

"Yes, cloning," Dongyoung says, quietly. "I don't really know – I wasn't really specialised in that area. I'm a doctor. I'm not a scientist."

"But…" Xiaojun says. "That's not possible."

"Dejun," Kunhang gasps, like he's only just realised who he's clinging onto for dear life. "Dejun! Dejun, I missed you! Doyoungie, did you find him? Where did you find him?"

"He came," Dongyoung says, "for you, I think."

"A happy accident," Dejun, apparently, says. He stretches out his fingers and intertwines them with Kunhang's. "Are you well? Have you slept a lot?" 

"Mm. Doyoungie," Kunhang says, "you look worried."

"Why do you care about somebody who fucking kidnapped you and put metal in your head and is trying to clone you? Talk about Stockholm syndrome," Yuta snaps. "We need to leave. Now."

"It's not his fault," Taeyong hisses.

"You don't genuinely believe that, do you?" Yuta snaps back. "Sorry. I just don't get any of this. How do we know you're not lying about the whole clone thing?"

"It's a complicated process, one that I don't have time to explain," Dongyoung says. "I know that you have questions, but the main fucking issue here is that we're about to die!"

"Hm," Taeyong says. He does this cute full-body stretch, from the tips of his fingers until his toes curl up. "Well, why don't we just leave? What's going to kill us?"

"Police officers," Dongyoung says. "Well. Maybe you'll be okay, but I can't say what'll happen to you. Probably just have your memories wiped and you'll start the whole process all over again." 

"What?" Kunhang says. "But it _hurts_."

Taeyong groans. "Jesus," he mutters. "Fuck."

"I don't get it," Dejun says "Why would you want to clone somebody in the first place?"

"Like I said, too many questions," Dongyoung says. "Is anybody good at computers? I'm thinking that if I can access the map and can place all the lifeforms on it, we could find a route with the least amount of officers and, if we're lucky, get out of this place alive. But we don't have a ship, do we?"

"Yeah," Dejun says. "I do. And I can help you with the map – the receptionist gave me a map already, and it shouldn't be too hard if we traced heat signals. Most police officers are human, and they are distinctly hotter than many other creatures."

" _You_ have a ship?" Dongyoung asks.

"Yeah?" Dejun says, shrugging his shoulders in a way that was probably meant to come off as cool and confident, but just seems shy and defensive. "It's just my friends and I. We only came here because Lucas was sick, and then we only got him because we went to Gara, and then we only went to Gara to get fuel so we could travel to Sangpota to meet with this banker friend of this guy that snuck onto our ship."

"Sangpota?" Taeyong asks. "Huh. Banker friend?"

"Mm. Some guy called Ten," Dejun says, like it's nothing.

"Ten?" Taeyong whispers. Honestly, Yuta would give anything to hear Taeyong whisper _his_ name out like that. "We have to leave. He fucking found me – I knew he would, I –"

"...Huh."

"What?" Yuta asks. "Is something wrong?"

"No. No, nothing's wrong," Dongyoung says, "but there are no heat signatures anywhere. It's like all the officers have just gone. We should take our chances and –"

"And?" Yuta says.

"I can't leave," Dongyoung says. "I can't leave. Not now. Not ever."

"Why? We have an opportunity to do so!" Taeyong shouts. "Doyoung, please –"

"I have to stay," Dongyoung says. "They'll kill Jeno if _anybody_ finds out I'm gone. I – I have to stay, and I have to stay with my work, too. I understand that you want to leave, and I want you to do what makes you happy, but I need you to do once last thing for me, okay?"

"What?" Kunhang asks.

"If I can clone you so that you're still awake," Dongyoung says, "it might work for the time being. They never check anything, not really – I doubt any Government officials have a basic knowledge of genetic modification, so it's more a visual sort of thing, yeah? So…"

"Doyoungie," Kunhang says, "you've never cloned us when we're awake."

"There's a first time for everything," he mutters.

And – quite frankly, Yuta doesn't get it. It would be nice if he could understand it, but how could he? This is way beyond his department. The process seems simple enough, with Dongyoung strapping them back in and Kunhang making a very loud, sad noise that breaks Yuta's heart. Although Yuta feels bad for Dongyoung, if he was in Kunhang or Taeyong's position, he'd never forgive him. What a moral dilemma.

The bath of slimy liquid starts to make sense when a kind of odd-shaped lump of white forms, looking strangely like a rice cake, out of the liquid. Apart from the fact that it makes Yuta feel sick, it's kind of fucking awesome. What originally starts off as a blob turns into Taeyong, which is weird as _fuck_ , with wet hair sticking to his eerily pale cheeks and – he's naked. Fully so, and Taeyong clearly twitches with embarrassment at the sight of himself. The straps make sense after how much he trashed around during the process, which is understandable, but his wrists are bitten red raw from how much they cut into skin (despite being only made of leather, or some sort of substitute material). 

The New-Taeyong says nothing. It's really, _really_ fucking creepy. 

"To what extent is this copy…" Yuta struggles to find the word. "Human?"

"Fully," Dongyoung says. "He's like any other human is. He can feel sensations, though I didn't have the heart to put him in any unnecessary pain, and can die, in a sense. He has emotions and – can feel _things_. Like, sexually."

"Doyoung-ah," Taeyong groans, embarrassed.

"There are some clothes – uh, somewhere," Dongyoung says, dismissively. The fact is that this Taeyong looks _exactly_ like Taeyong, and it's creepy. Possibly sexy. Yuta will work out the feelings churning around in his gut as soon as he finds a white sort of t-shirt thing, and some plain pajama bottoms. The weird thing about New-Taeyong, or maybe Taeyong 2.0, is that he smells _so_ good. 

"Does he speak?" Yuta asks. "Or is he just staring at me?"

"He can," Dongyoung says. "A little."

Taeyong, the _real_ one, sits up and makes a pained sound. "I'll never stop finding it creepy," Taeyong mumbles, prodding his clone's cheek with their faces scarily close together. "Ya, Taeyong-ah, how are you?"

Yuta is literally going to have a heart attack. One Taeyong was a whole _thing_ , but two?

And Kunhang is cute too, sniffing at his clone, distrustful. Yuta kind of wishes that there was a way to tell them apart, because having two of the same person in a room is starting to not be cool and becoming an inconvenience.

The room flashes red, and there's a very loud, clear beep that resonates through the entirety of the hospital. "Fuck," Dongyoung says. "It's a lockdown. Makes sense, but –" He pauses. "Go. Now. Thank you for everything, I –"

It's kind of a hurry after that. Yuta just runs, grabs the wrist of Taeyong, and runs even more so. He's not used to running so much, and his muscles burn with lactic acid within, like, ten seconds. Dejun is surprisingly fast, in a way that Yuta never expected him to be, and Kunhang is even faster, even when he's running in bare feet. 

Right. So _this_ is how he's spending his Sunday afternoon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO it's been like a month since i updated last and idk i hope you're not annoyed at me since i was so update-heavy in the first few chapters!! this was my holiday and i decided to enjoy it.
> 
> btw we can call this the REUNION chapter in accordance with all the reunions, but im saving the taeil/lucas reunion to the next chapter bc i love suffering :3

**1**

As soon as they're outside, bathed in the cool air of the planet, Yuta's stomach sinks.

Not wanting to make a big deal of the fact that he fucked up, Yuta quietly follows after Dejun as he leads them to a very battered, worn-down looking ship. This isn't the kind of situation that Yuta wants to get himself in, but he's glad that they are no guards to be seen and the weather-regulated sky is clear and bright. Dejun is very calm and patient with Kunhang in a way that clarifies to Yuta that this best friend thing is totally, and completely, true.

He seems at ease with the other, and Kunhang is smiling a lot too. Yuta wonders what that's like. His best friend is probably dead. Jaehyun was brought to this planet for one thing – to die. 

Right. Yuta supposes that's going to require a lot of getting used to, but his hands start to shake regardless of how much he tries to repress the sick feeling pooling in his stomach. There's nothing worse than being alone, after all. 

Kunhang shoves a button on the exterior and the door spills open, the interior so remarkably cold that Yuta automatically starts to shiver. "Sorry," he mutters, in apology. "We'll have to get it fixed, some day."

Kunhang traces his fingertips across the interior, and it's like nothing Yuta has ever seen before, the light in his eyes glowing so brightly like this is the best thing that could ever happen to him. "I missed you," he says, softly, and breathes in the scent of petroleum. "Is Kun here?"

"No. He left with Jaehyun," Dejun professes. "Sorry. Jaehyun's just some guy."

"Jaehyun isn't _just some guy_ , he's my best friend," Yuta snaps, which brings the exact kind of attention to him that he didn't want. 

"How did you get the wrong Taeyong?" Kunhang shouts.

"They look exactly the same!" Yuta snaps back. "It was an easy mistake to make!"

"Except _this_ Taeyong has the mental capacity of a fucking fish," Kunhang sighs. "Don't you get it? You left Taeyong in there."

"I don't know him," Yuta says, "so why should I care? It's not like he couldn't run himself." He stares at the confused face of the other Taeyong, pale and sickly, and groans. "Alright. Sorry, it wasn't my intention, but he'll be fine, right?"

Kunhang sniffs. "I'm not angry at what happened to me," he confesses, "but I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. How would you like it if you were taken from your family? How would _you_ like to have every cell in your body prodded and poked at, to have a never-ending migraine because of the fucking metal in your head –"

"Kunhangie!" a voice shouts.

"Yangyang!" Kunhang shouts back, his voice full of a joy that seems to completely detract from his precious argument. It makes sense for him to be so upset – he does look, in the most polite sense, like shit. There are patches pressed over his skinny arms where needles and tubes went in, and the word _pale_ doesn't really serve to describe the greying colour his skin is. And the idea that there could be failures is still sour in Yuta's mind, reminding him that not everyone was as lucky as Kunhang and Taeyong.

Yuta can't ponder on that much longer, because he sees the only person that matters to him – Jaehyun. It doesn't make any sense whatsoever why he's here, but the wash of relief Yuta feels that he hasn't lost his other half is probably the best thing he's felt in a long time. "I thought you died, you stupid dick!" Yuta laughs.

"What the fuck happened? I thought _you_ died," Jaehyun says. Before he can begin to explain all the events that have fallen upon him in the past few days, he notices the patter of footsteps behind him. 

"Ah," Jaehyun says, "you're awake. Kun is –"

Ten pauses. 

"What the fuck did they do to you?" Ten screams. "Taeyong…"

Clearly the memory transplant is pointless or just non-functioning, since Taeyong stares at Ten with the same blankness of a stranger. The others stare, shocked and with very little to say, as Ten wraps his hands around Taeyong's face and begins to cry in a way that is both hiccupy and loud, his mouth hanging open. 

"Ten…" Dejun starts. "Ten, it's okay."

"How is it okay?" Ten screams. "How can you tell me it's okay when the only person that I've ever loved is braindead or doesn't know me or – fuck, I don't know!" He grips onto Taeyong's shoulders. "Tell me you know me, Taeyong. Tell me you know me!"

"Ten, listen –" 

Ten isn't listening. His whole world is falling apart, his delusions of Taeyong's safety, and he isn't quite sure what's worse – the fact that Taeyong doesn't know him anymore, or the fact that he could be dead. Perhaps if he was dead it would be easier to handle – Taeyong looks at him as though he's a stranger, unable to speak, and yet tries his very best to run his fingers through Ten's hair, not very delicately. He mimics the expression of sadness that he sees on Ten's face, and allows the other to shout and scream until his throat burns and his face is bright red and wet.

"Taeyong…" he mumbles, weakly. "Taeyong-ah, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I let you go, and now you don't even know who I am."

"...Ten," Taeyong says, and his knuckles almost burst through his skin from how hard he clings onto him.

"You're Ten?" Kunhang asks. "Taeyong talks about you _all_ the time."

"What? You know Taeyong?" Ten asks. "Then what's wrong with him, because he's not usually like this – he can talk, I just –" Ten stares at Kunhang. "What's wrong with you?"

Kunhang raises his hand to his mouth and his plastered wrist is overtly obvious. "I've been sick," he lies. "Anyway, he's okay. That's not Taeyong, thanks to _Yuta_."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier, you assholes?" Ten sniffs. "I hate crying in front of other people! What's this, then? A clone?"

"Exactly," Kunhang says. "Woah. You catch on quick."

"Well, did nobody think to, like, fucking _label_ them?" Ten groans. Taeyong, who is only a few inches taller than the other, stands to his side, looking as confused as he was earlier but with a slightly redder face. "It would have saved everyone a lot of confusion. Also, cloning? What the fuck?"

"It was a split-second decision," Yuta defends. "I just grabbed him and ran, okay? If I'd have known…" He pauses. "Wait. Who's the Captain? Couldn't we just leave now? I don't want to run the risk of getting shot!"

"If the real Taeyong is here, there's no way I'm leaving him," Ten hisses.

"Ten, all the cops were here for _you_ ," Dejun says. "But…" He furrows his brow. "How come we didn't see any? It was like they just disappeared."

"Well," Jaehyun says, "that's me. They're all still here, just – paused." He smiles. "Some guys called Jeonghan and Mingyu helped us. They'll be coming soon." 

"Oh, fuck," Ten says, aghast. "Jaejoong is –" He grabs Taeyong's wrist. "We're getting the real you and leaving, okay? Not that you understand me, of course, but – I'm sorry. Tell Kun that I'll wire him the money as soon as I can, but I have to leave."

"How? The cops can wake up if anybody on Poliisi has a half a brain cell and releases what's happened here, and then we're all fucked for harbouring a fugitive, and whatever else they want to arrest us for," Jaehyun says. "No. Okay. Let's think logically – Kun and Taeil will be back soon. They went into the hospital to go get Lucas and Tzuyu, okay? They'll be back soon. How would you even leave, anyway? Can you fly a police ship?"

"I could fly any ship presented to me," Ten says, "and besides, the plan kind of was to shoot Jeonghan and Mingyu, _then_ fly the ship." Jaehyun's eyes widen. "Don't look so shocked. They're the ones who're trying to pick me up, okay, and Jaejoong – well, hah. I'm not planning on working with him any longer."

"They said they were going to help us," Jaehyun says.

"Yeah. Well. They'll lie," Ten scoffs. "They always lie. It's what they do. It's what _I_ do, or did, or whatever. It doesn't matter. I quit." He pulls at Taeyong. "I have to go. It was nice knowing you."

"Wait, you can't – you can't," Dejun says. "We only just got out. They're on lockdown – can't get in, can't get out."

"What about Kun and Taeil?" Jaehyun asks. "And Tzuyu and Lucas? Fucking _hell_ , I thought something had gone my way for once."

"You would be happy to just take a clone of my best friend who doesn't have two brain cells to rub together and _leave_?" Ten says. "No. I've – I've got to go. I've done more difficult things in my life than getting into a deadlocked building. You've got no idea how much Taeyong means to me. When I find the person who did this to you, I'm going to fucking cut their head off."

"Don't," Kunhang says. "Don't. Please, don't."

"I don't need to get into your weird ass complex!" Ten shouts.

**2**

"Can you stop coughing on me?" Tzuyu sighs. It's not that she's upset at Lucas being ill, but being ill near her? She doesn't appreciate it all that much. After all, getting sick is one of her biggest fears, and she doesn't know how long she's going to be stuck with this six-foot-something, sneezing man – nobody provided her with a map of this place, so she just finds the nearest lift and presses for the **A &E**, even though she's sure it would have been helpful to be told what to do.

See, _this_ is the problem she's facing now. Responsibility is one thing, but how is Tzuyu meant to know what's wrong in this situation? She's not used to looking after sick people. Honestly, they kind of freak her out, and she would rather be anywhere else than in an enclosed space with a...germ carrier. Freaky. 

On the other hand, it's not _his_ fault, right? Not that she knows Lucas particularly well, though. What if it is his fault? Can illness be somebody's fault? Tzuyu sighs, and the doors slide open. It would be easy to proceed if there were more people around. Clearly, everybody in the reception knew what they were doing, but the corridors are almost freakishly white and empty – until they're not.

"Can I see some ID?" a police officer asks, dressed in plain black. His blaster is blatantly obvious. 

"Uh, yeah," she sighs, handing him her ID, just having been put back in her utility belt. "Sorry, my dumbass brother lost his. Why are there police here, may I ask?"

He frowns at the ID, but hands it back without question. "You don't know?"

"We were in a hurry," Tzuyu says, "so I didn't ask."

"Fuck. I tried telling that pink-haired kid not to let any more people in," he scoffs, "but I guess he's as dumb as he looks. Basically, it's just procedure. A guy the Government is pretty eager to catch has been rumoured to be going around these parts, so…"

"You'd put a whole galaxy's need for healthcare beneath justice?" she scoffs.

"Not my call," he says, holding his hands up, "but Ten is a dangerous man. Maybe you should be a bit more careful – that brother of yours looks like he's about to die. Couldn't fight off this Ten guy even if he tried."

"...Right," she says, gritting her teeth. The assumption that she couldn't protect herself is grating at her. "Well, then. Could you help me find the entrance for A&E? This place is so confusing." 

"Yeah, no problem," he says, shrugging. And it works. He doesn't question Tzuyu, not even once – men are pretty blind when it suits them, and so she just takes advantage of this stupidity and lets him lead her into a bustling, complicated-looking room. These systems are usually badly organised, and the man who runs over to Tzuyu and says, "God, what's wrong _now_?" kind of represents that disorganisation.

"Dunno," she says, but adds, "but my friend said he might have pneumonia."

Lucas, like the annoying guy he's proving to be, chooses that exact moment to pass out.

"...Right. Right, fine," the doctor grumbles. 

"So you'll do a check-up?" she asks.

"Well, we're wearing pretty thin on resources," he says, "so we can give him some medication, but we don't have any more beds for the night."

"Right. Whatever. Fine. But don't you think –"

"Do you want to start an argument?"

"Honestly, what _I_ want to do is to not watch somebody die, but y'know, check him up all you like," Tzuyu says. "Just think you should care a bit more about your patients. He's been lying on the floor and you haven't even done anything about that!"

The man grabs Lucas up by the arm, which is most certainly not what you're supposed to do, and tugs him off into another room. Tzuyu isn't so sure about what she's meant to do, whether she should follow or not, but from the intonation of the man's voice, she assumes not. What's wrong with this place? There are people swarming everywhere in this room, and nobody looks like they have a clue what they're doing.

"You know, I think it's the Government," a voice says into her ear. "They're trying to make us weak so that we won't fight back. I mean, why else send a load of police officers onto the planet?"

Tzuyu turns around to see a girl with cropped hair and a bottle of water in her hand. "Huh?"

"I've been waiting for three hours and nobody has even once asked me what's wrong," she says. "It wasn't always like this, but everything has been a complete and utter mess as of late. I know tons of people not getting their medication, and now I hear they're not letting people in because of some fugitive? As if. They just want a reason to stop people from getting healthy so we're more easily killed, you get me?"

"That would make sense," Tzuyu says, "but why are you telling me this? What's your name?"

"Jennie," she answers. "You looked confused, and I saw what happened with your boyfriend."

" _Not_ my boyfriend, rest assured."

"Ah…" She pauses. "Well, either way. I don't care if I'm killed for it. I think it's wrong to make us all suffer. So much money is allocated to this hospital per year, and I'm starting to wonder what they're doing with it – the staff are overworked, there are never any beds, and not enough medication to go round." She furrows her eyebrows. "So, he's not your boyfriend?"

"Are you flirting with me?" Tzuyu says. "Because having a debate about Government corruption isn't exactly a turn-on for me."

"No, I just wanted to know," Jennie defends. "Either way, don't you think it's strange?"

"Yeah. Sure. It's odd, but you don't have to convince me to have negative feelings towards the Government – I've always hated them. I still don't get why you're telling _me_ all this, though," Tzuyu says. "My friends are probably looking for me. I should tell them I'm okay."

The whole room flashes red, and Jennie bites her lip. "Fucking hell," she says. "What's that all about, then?"

"...I'd assume a lockdown. I've been in Government buildings before. But why…It doesn't matter." She stares down at her comm. "Guess this is useless, then. Right. I have to go."

"What about your friend, though?" Jennie asks.

"He'll be okay. I'll figure something out," Tzuyu mutters. "It was nice talking to you —"

"I'll give you the number for my comm," Jennie states, and pulls out of a marker from her pocket. She scribbles down a long line of numbers across Tzuyu's hand, and the planet code SA.

"You're from Sangpota?" she asks.

"Guilty as charged," replies Jennie. 

"Then you might know —" Tzuyu pauses, and bites her lip. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."

"I hope you and your friend are okay," Jennie replies, awkwardly dismissing Tzuyu with a wave.

Among the chaos, people running around even more madly than before due to the unexpected nature of the lockdown, Tzuyu realises that she's out of her depth. While she has been praised in the past for her cool-natured approach to problem solving, there's very little she can do now. Besides, she's resigned to protect a person she doesn't yet trust, and his illness is decidedly holding her back. Then again, it'll just help her prove her worthiness as a Captain.

She remembers the room that Lucas was led into, realising the doctor has long since abandoned any promised effort, and sighs as she sees Lucas dumbly holding an ice pack to his head like _that_ will do anything. He doesn't even have a fever, Tzuyu notes, but there's something quietly reassuring about the fact that he clearly took the doctor's word as law. 

Tzuyu begins to search quickly through the cabinets in the room, a regular office without any doctor, and so decides upon as many packets as she can stuff in the spare pocket of her storage belt. It all does the same shit, she assumes, so all is better than nothing. There's a water fountain, and so Tzuyu makes him force down a plastic cup of icy water. 

He still isn't talking, which disconcerts Tzuyu.

"This place is under lockdown," she explains. He just sips on his water and stares up at her. What's the point in explaining this? He clearly isn't listening. "I'm going to get us out of here. Sorry about the fact that you're probably not going to be okay, but I really don't want you to get hurt beyond this, so."

Lucas smiles. Right, he doesn't understand.

Tzuyu isn't exactly phased by lockdowns, though. She forces the door of the medical room shut by shoving a cabinet in front of it, worried by how light it seems and how it might not hold up if someone was to push on the door, but decides she doesn't care all too much. She's glad this particular medical room has a window. Other than a bit of self-confidence and a rope, that's all she needs — luckily for her, one of those things is comfortably sat in her belt. Just in case, Tzuyu thinks. 

Anybody who doesn't carry around a knife with them is simply missing a trick, too.

Glass is easy to shatter, and most buildings don't have that material to make windows. Tzuyu feels for the plastic that conjoins the window to the wall, uses her knife to prize the two materials apart, and uses her fingers to rip the window off. She sighs. That wasn't very much fun.

"Lucas?" Tzuyu asks.

Lucas blinks up at her. Great, he's totally out of it — either this is the worst case scenario or the best one, considering people this delirious don't feel fear like they normally would. The fact that he keeps coughing makes her feel sick — Dejun's germophobia might have extended to her, because she does _not_ want to get sick. Whatever. Unfortunately, she can't just leave him. Tzuyu doesn't break promises.

"I'm going to do something you're probably going to hate," she explains. "But it'll be okay. Probably. I've done it before."

It's easy to set up, Tzuyu realises. She's got a clamp that she sticks easily to the wall (one that she bought a while ago, after realising the magnetic clamp that she'd bought before was useless if metal wasn't around) and it's easy to tie the rope around the clamp after that. The only issue is the fact that instead of simply having to wrap the rope around herself, she loops it around her own belt _and_ Lucas', pressing them together so that his back is awkwardly pressed against her nose.

 _At least he can't cough in my face_ , Tzuyu thinks.

"I'm just going to walk down the wall," she says, which would _usually_ illicit a fearful reaction, but...Nothing. Great.

If Tzuyu was scared of heights and the slight possibility of death, this would probably be the worst thing in the world, but no. So what? Dying is just the end of life. If she hated the idea so much, everything in her life would be petrifying, but walking down a building horizontally is not the worst thing in the world. Lucas isn't even that heavy.

By the time they're at the bottom, Lucas has practically fallen asleep on top of her, and so Tzuyu unties the two of them and smiles up at Lucas. "You did really well," she praises. She doesn't like to boost egos _that_ much, but if she tried to do that with Kun or Jieqiong or Sicheng for that matter, they'd probably cry. Either Lucas is really brave or really sick. Maybe a dangerous combination of the two. "Hey. Lotta ships out here, right? And not many soldiers. Hm. Hey, look, there's Kun — and some guy."

Lucas' eyes widen. He runs with such a ferocity that Tzuyu, for half a second, is almost convinced that he's been talking his illness the whole time. He stops, pants, and looks like he's going to throw up, so...Maybe not.

"Kun," Tzuyu says, raising her eyebrow at the other man. "What the fuck happened?"

"Oh, God, it doesn't bear explaining. This place is under lockdown!" Kun shouts. "How did you get out?"

"Simple intuition," she replies, shoving her hands in her back pockets. "Okay, I'll bite. Who's that?"

"Oh, that's just Taeil," Kun says, casually. "Have you seen Dejun?"

"No. He went off on his own," Tzuyu says. "He'll be okay, Kun. He's smarter than all of us."

Kun doesn't seem convinced by this argument.

"Let's just go back to the ship," she says, "and wait it out, okay? If he's there, we can go. If not, _I'll_ go look for him, alright?" 

All four start walking towards the ship, with Tzuyu standing closer to Kun than she usually would. It's nice to be around somebody who hasn't got the literal plague.

"Fine," he agrees, awkwardly, crossing his arms in front of his stomach. "Did you get the right medication for Lucas? A prescription?"

"I just grabbed whatever. Trust me when I say those doctors were _not_ attentive," Tzuyu sighs. "Government's been cutting off supplies. I guess it's not their fault." She holds up her hand to show him the number. "Remember when we were going to Sangpota? Do you think we could, after all of this blows over? I have some unfinished business."

"Sure," he says, softly. "Is the number any part of that?"

"No. It just reminded me of something," Tzuyu explains. "So, that guy knows Lucas, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. It's a complicated story, but we've got some new passengers," Kun says. "It's really very complicated. Do I have to explain it?"

"Yes," Tzuyu urges.

"Okay, we might be travelling with some assassins," Kun says.

"Say no more," Tzuyu laughs. "They already sound cool as fuck."

By the time they've arrived at the ship, Tzuyu is half-expecting to have some relaxing wind-down time, not walk in on a screaming match between the police officer she hates and the fugitive she also hates. Also, _more_ people? She's the Captain now, and yet everyone is bringing along their mother and pet and entire extended family?

But at least Dejun is there, looking very concerned and —

"Kunhang!" Tzuyu shouts. She doesn't do _big_ emotions, but she's really happy to see him. "Oh my God, what the fuck happened to you? I'll kill them —"

"Kunhang," says Kun, weakly. Nothing else matters. "I'm so fucking sorry."

Kunhang swallows. "Is it okay if I don't forgive you?"

Dejun and Yangyang, who are sat on both of his sides and gripping onto him like they'll never let go, look uncomfortable at this statement.

A silence falls upon the ship.

"Oh my fucking _God_ , dude," Mingyu barks, stepping onto the ship, "I did _not_ wank off Jun, man!"

Jeonghan bites his lip, and elbows Mingyu in the stomach. "Read the fucking room, man," he hisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY THIS IS MORE PERSONAL but if you've been following this fic through, youll know i stopped posting because of exams in like may/june time but i finally got my results yay!!! and tbf i killed it. so yeah. im very happy.
> 
> also im going to college in september but this will probably not affecting my posting bc i wuv validation and attention:3 :3
> 
>  
> 
> thank u for putting up with me!! you don't know how much it means to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**1**

“Kunhang won’t talk to me,” Kun sighs, resting his head in his heads. “I know that I fucked up, but it feels like he’s punishing me unnecessarily.”

It was his fault. To Kunhang, at least, it feels like there’s no denying that — his incapability to set boundaries and not let his crew wander off fucked everything up, and now they’re stuck on a planet waiting for the cops to wake up any minute now with no clue as to the whereabouts of Sicheng or Jieqiong. Kunhang is miserable, having gone into his old quarters with Yangyang and Dejun to avoid arguing and potential crying on Kun’s part, and Ten won’t shut up about how he _needs_ to get out and find the real Taeyong. If the clone of his best friend had feelings, Kun supposes that would be incredibly awkward, but he seems to just be a pale, blinking thing (person, maybe?) that doesn’t have any intelligent awareness of what’s happening around him. For better or for worse, Kun can’t help but find it a little creepy.

But since Ten is a part of Kun’s crew, or he _was_ , or...Either way, there’s no way that he’s letting Ten just risk his own safety like that. Honest to God, Kun deeply understands the feeling of loving somebody so deeply and profoundly that you’d do almost anything to make sure that they weren’t in danger, but it’s just a terrible idea all around. Everyone is in mutual agreement to just lock the doors and wait — Sicheng and Jieqiong are perfectly smart, well-rounded people who can, if they so please, find their ways back, but Kun can’t help but wonder why they left in the first place. If they wanted to stray so badly, why wouldn’t they wait until they weren’t on a planet full of cops? 

Especially Sicheng. There’s nothing and nobody he hates more.

Here’s the thing, though — Kun is stuck. He’s not in charge anymore. If it was his choice, though, he doesn’t even know what he’d do. They could just leave the other two behind, but what would that do? Sicheng would hold that grudge for the rest of his life — that is, if they ever met again. The universe is so expansive, filled with trillions of creatures and more space than one could possibly imagine, and Sicheng isn’t the kind of person who makes his presence widely known. He has his comm. If he isn’t talking, it’s because he’s in the hospital — and who knows when they’re getting out? Jieqiong, too. Kun doesn’t want to leave her, either. There’s just nothing he can do to make this situation better. 

“So,” Yuta says, chewing, clearly having discovered Kun’s stash of freeze-dried strawberries, “you work for Jaejoong, you say?”

Ten crosses his arms over his stomach. “Do you _have_ to ask them about that?”

“It’s just a question,” Jeonghan groans. “Anyway, yeah. We did. It’s easy money, really, but since we’ve decided to split, he’s gonna be pissed. Even more pissed than how he was when _you_ died, Ten.”

“I didn’t die, quite clearly,” says Ten. “Before we left Gara, Jieqiong said something about me being the same as Kunhang. Do you have any idea what she meant by that? I’m human.”

“...Well,” Kun hums. “It’s difficult to say. Honestly, it was just something we noticed…”

“Kunhang could change,” Tzuyu explains, “his skin colour, mainly. Depending on the native population of the planet we visited. I thought it was pretty cool, but since he wouldn’t tell us about his childhood, or anything that happened before we met him, we just sort of...Let it go. It was something that happened, so we left it at that. Jieqiong was obsessed with learning about it.”

“That happened to me,” Ten says. “My hands turned blue.”

“Hah, maybe you’re his brother or something,” Yuta scoffs. “I’m sure that’s got a fancy name. Uh, Muutos? Can’t remember. Either way, it’s not something _humans_ do, y’know?”

Jaehyun elbows Yuta softly. “Don’t be _mean_.”

“I’m not being mean! Taeil —” 

“He’s in the medical room with Lucas,” Kun explains. “God, I feel like we’re sitting ducks.”

“We could leave without Sicheng,” Ten sighs. “I’m perfectly fine with _that_ solution.”

Ah. Kun forgot about the weird tension between Ten and Sicheng, largely based off the fact that Sicheng still doesn’t trust Ten and how he wanted to throw him off the ship, and, to Ten, this seems like a perfect solution to get rid of him. Being stuck between those two rivalling spirits, one silently resentful and the other _extremely_ vocal about it, is uncomfortable, to say the least. 

“Okay, we can’t do that,” Kun says.

Mingyu shrugs his shoulders. “We might have to. This Sicheng...If he’s as tough as you said he is, he’ll be fine, right?”

“I know. But he’ll hate me,” Kun says.

“Can we stop making decisions based on the fact that Kun doesn’t want to upset people?” Tzuyu snaps. “Alright. As Captain, I say we should go. Ten, I’m sorry about your friend —”

“Taeyong,” Ten interrupts.

“Fine, Taeyong,” she sighs. “But that’s life. I’m sorry. The best you can do is talk to Kunhang about it. I’m sure he’s aware of the situation to a degree you’re not.” She bites her lip. “Yuta, I don’t know you. I’m well aware that Ten hates your guts right now. Try to suck it up. Jaehyun, I don’t trust you. That’s all I have to say on the matter. Jeonghan, Mingyu, if I have to hear one more discussion about how you want to have hate sex with Minghao, whoever the fuck that is, you’re getting thrown off the ship. And Kun…” Tzuyu crosses her arms. “You’re going to grovel to Kunhang, offer him whatever he wants, and we can discuss what happens after that once we’re on a safe planet. I’m sorry about Sicheng and Jieqiong, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

With that, Tzuyu raises her eyebrow at Mingyu. “Are you any good at flying ships?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “God, you’re so fucking scary, y’know?”

**2**

Taeil is surprised, and slightly horrified, by the barren cabinets of this ship’s medical room. All supplies are severely limited, except for the plentiful supplies of bandages and disinfecting solutions, and so he has the medicines that Tzuyu stole and a half-empty bottle of caffeine pills to work around. He has half a mind to start yelling at whoever is in charge of this ship (which seems like a very vague concept at the moment) about what would happen if somebody suddenly got sick. What’s the point in even having a medical room?

Lucas seems even worse than ever. Taeil knows that it’s not too late, but his hands shake around the pill bottles as he scans the labels. He finds a bottle of aspirin and decides it’s better than nothing, so gently makes Lucas take two of those with plenty of water to wash it down. At least there’s seemingly no limit to water on the ship. He needs Lucas to clear the phlegm in his throat that’s making his breathing harder and causing him to cough from the never-ending itch.

After that, Taeil just sits, running his fingers through Lucas’ hair as he rests his head in Taeil’s lap, layed across the metal bed with his legs curled up. Taeil isn’t afraid of getting sick. He’ll be damned if he leaves Lucas alone for another fucking second. Being without him for days was like having a part of himself ripped out, and so Lucas finds himself having physical affection poured upon him, much to his delight. His childhood was decidedly impersonal, having no real parental figure who would give him the luxury of touch. It doesn’t matter anymore. Not now, at least.

“You don’t have to speak,” Taeil hums, his thumb lightly tucking a curl of Lucas’ hair behind his ear, “but I just want you to know how much you mean to me. And you’ll be okay, I promise.” Underneath the low tone of Taeil’s voice, the engines begin to vibrate. “All you need to do is relax, okay? That’s it.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucas says, softly, “for leaving you.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Lucas,” Taeil replies. “I wanted you to leave. With or without me, you would’ve been fine. I trust Jaehyun. And he got you to a hospital? Albeit the hospital was overrun with cops, but he took them down, too? But we’re here, together, and now we’re leaving, aren’t we? I told you everything would be alright. Lucas, I can take you around the universe. Show you everything that you want to see, even.”

“Really?”

“Mm, really. We could stick with these people, even,” Taeil laughs. “They’re odd, sure, but it could work. It’s not like we’re not worth keeping around. You’re good with machines, and I’m a doctor.” He smiles down at Lucas. “I’m so glad you’re here. We made it. We really made it, Lucas. You and I — we’re both free, forever and always.”

“I love you,” Lucas says.

“I love you too,” Taeil replies. “You should get some proper rest, though. You deserve it.”

“So should you,” Lucas mumbles. 

And so Taeil finds himself laying down with Lucas, staring at the ceiling and thinking about all that has happened to him. He thought his life was going to end, whether or not he died, because he’d lost his freedom. They’d taken him from his world and sent him to someplace in the middle of nowhere, but now he’s _here_ , able to relax for the first time in weeks. It feels good to have Lucas with him again, to not be so alone in the empty world, and as his mind wanders, he wonders if he’ll be able to find his cat. It’s been so long that he forgot about poor little Goma, pawing her way around the universe. That is if she’s not dead, of course, which seems more than likely.

But, more than anything, Taeil is just _tired_ , and so he allows himself the very basic, yet totally forgotten, pleasure of falling asleep without being scared. He would be beaten if he didn’t wake up on time when he was a slave, would be terrified that some police officer would hurt him on the ship, and so now, with Lucas in his arms, he falls asleep. It reminds him of the time when they were in the bunks, pressed together, and Taeil can’t deny the intrinsic comfort of being held and to hold. 

They’re safe. They’re _safe_.

**3**

“I…” Kunhang stares in the mirror. “Do I look like this? Like, usually?”

Dejun bites his lip. Perhaps being brutally honest isn’t the right course of action for right now, since Kunhang’s short hair is sticking up all over the place and his skin is almost transparent due to the utter lack of colour in his skin, but there’s no denying the fact that he’s not...Normal. He isn’t acting the same, twitching whenever Dejun comes too close to him too quickly, and doesn’t look the same either.

“You look fine,” Yangyang says, softly. “Don’t worry about it, Kunhang.”

Kunhang can’t help but worry. Nothing feels the same. Even if he can stay here forever, even if he never has to go back, there’s the inescapable feeling that he’ll never return to normality. Goosebumps line his arms and there’s nothing he can really do about it. “Kunhang,” Dejun says, rubbing the other’s arm, “we’re here for you, okay? Do you want to…” He sighs. “To talk about it?”

“Please don’t blame Doyoung,” Kunhang says, quickly. “It’s really not his fault! It’s not his fault. I promise you, he doesn’t have a choice.”

Yangyang furrows his brow. “Who’s Doyoung?”

“He’s the guy that did this to Kunhang,” Dejun explains. “I know you’re...But Kunhang, he’s a bad person. He took you from your home. From us. He hurt you. You don’t have to forgive him.”

“Come on, Kunhang, fuck him,” Yangyang snaps. “He cloned you. That isn’t normal, not totally fucked-in-the-head behaviour.”

“It’s more than that, though,” Kunhang mumbles, picking at the plaster on his wrist. “I don’t blame him, and you shouldn’t either. I’m not _stupid_. I know what I’m saying. He’s so nice, but he didn’t have a choice. His brother — his brother, they’ve got him. And they’ll kill him if he doesn’t do what they say. So please…” He chews on his lip. “...Please don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t understand.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” says Yangyang. “He just lied to you to make you think he wasn’t guilty.” Yangyang rests his head on Kunhang’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Kunhang says.

“I think Kun is upset that you won’t forgive him,” Dejun mumbles. “You don’t have to.”

Kunhang swallows. “I had my entire life stripped in front of my own eyes. They took me when I was just in some market, minding my own fucking business, and I couldn’t even scream. If I did, they just told the people that I was some kind of insane criminal. People believe the police. At least, it’s easier to believe them than to get your face smashed in. I let them take me because I didn’t have a fucking choice. They shaved my hair off. They told me I’d never see my friends or family ever again. They hit me if I spoke my mind, so I never did. Doyoung was the only person who treated me with respect, Dejun.” He takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “The Government can do whatever they like. They can elect Doyoung to lead some experiments because he’s a renowned doctor. They can take people from the streets and nobody will say anything. Kun should have protected me. I trusted him.”

“He didn’t mean it — Kunhang, please don’t cry,” Dejun says. 

Kunhang tries to squeeze his face up to stop the tears from spilling out, but he looks positively distraught. “I don’t want to forgive him,” he chokes out. “Not yet.”

There’s a knock on the door, and Dejun reluctantly gets up to press the button that makes it slide open. Kun is biting his lip, and says, “I know he doesn’t want to talk to me, and I get that, but can you give him this?” He hands the tablet to Dejun and adds, “We’re going, I think. We don’t have any choice but to leave Sicheng behind.”

“He’ll be okay, right?” Dejun asks.

“Yeah,” replies Kun, “that’s right.”

**4**

It should have been obvious from the start. Somebody had to have known.

Honestly, it’s been eating away at Sicheng for a while. This particular situation has just made it all the more obvious, but he’s certain that this has been going on for longer than he himself cares to admit. It’s not surprising that it went under Kun’s nose, his inherent desire to believe all people are good clouding his judgement, but Sicheng should have known sooner. At first, he’d assumed it was Tzuyu — she never seemed particularly invested in anybody, not the crew, and so it just seemed like the logical conclusion to draw. 

It’s clear as day now, though. All Sicheng needed was proof.

“Jieqiong,” he says, tapping her lightly on the shoulder as she holds her comm to her mouth. The barrel of his blaster presses into her neck. “You knew.”

She looks up at him with confused, bewildered eyes, laughing awkwardly as she drops her comm and it clatters on the flow, falling to pieces on impact. “Sorry?” she asks. “Sicheng, you’ve gone mad. Get your blaster off me.”

“You knew,” Sicheng says. “You knew that the police were coming here. Who else would’ve told them?” She still looks confused. “I just want to know why. You know, before I kill you.”

“What?” Jieqiong explains. “Why would I betray the crew?”

“I don’t know. Money? Power? Revenge? Fuck, I don’t know,” Sicheng exclaims. “Jieqiong, did you think I wouldn’t figure out who you were? You’re not scared of cops. You walk around without fear. You were always pretty interested in Kunhang who then got kidnapped, then you became obsessed with Ten. It never felt genuine.”

“Get off me!” Jieqiong shouts. “You’ll fucking regret that!” She punches Sicheng across the face, making his nose flare up an angry red shade and his grip loosen. “I knew that you were a fucking bitch.”

“I’m a bitch, huh?” Sicheng scoffs. “Go on, then. What is it? Money? The rich always love getting richer, don’t they? You say you’re Jieqiong from Sangpota, the girl who was taking her clothes off for money after your rich, famous family lost everything, and I fucking respected that. You were a survivor. You made _sense_. And then for me to do the slightest bit of research into you, and it’s a fucking lie?”

“It’s not my fucking fault you were all so stupid, okay?” Jieqiong shouts. “Is that what you want me to apologise for? Lying? Fine. My family have money. I’m not poor. That doesn’t mean I like them!”

“It’s not just that, Jieqiong,” Sicheng snaps. “You wanted us here for a reason.”

“The police were never supposed to kill Ten here,” Jieqiong groans. “Jaejoong just wanted to prove a point. And then the Commissioner double-crossed him, said that he’d do whatever he wanted, so Jaejoong had him killed, alright?”

“Jaejoong?” Sicheng asks.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jieqiong sighs. “Put the blaster down, and I’ll explain everything. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

Sicheng sighs, but slides the blaster back into his belt. “This better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Jieqiong says, sliding her hand down to her jeans. “It was just for money. Jaejoong is so rich. All I wanted was to prove to my family that I was worth something, that I could do something for myself, and so I...I contacted my father’s friend, Jaejoong, and asked what I could do for him. He said it was really simple. I was given everything I needed. All I had to do was find this one specific boy.” She reaches over to press her hands on Sicheng’s shoulders. “It wasn’t my intention for it to go this far.”

“I know, but —” Sicheng’s voice is cut off as Jieqiong plugs her pocket knife in his shoulder, the blood immediately flooding to the surface as she continually shoves it in his shoulder, in his arm. He lets out a broken sob, his hands rushing to stop the blood as his eyes sting with tears. Before he has the common sense to grab his blaster, too overwhelmed by the sudden, agonising pains in his shoulder, Jieqiong has it pressed to _his_ temple. 

“I should have one of these all the time, right?” Jieqiong laughs. “Though I think the knife is pretty handy, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**1**

Kun, like anybody else, _hates_ to be disliked. 

It’s an issue that has stuck with him throughout his entire life — he gives more than he ever gets, and he used to let people take advantage of him in every way imaginable. Sicheng is good at grounding him, making him stop risking his own self to make others happy, but since he’s left Sicheng behind, Kun reckons that he’s lost the closeness they once had for his one safety. They’re in the depth of space, with Kun staring out of his own quarter’s window, as he realises that everything he once had has fallen apart. 

Nobody respects him as a leader, and he no longer is Captain. He left Sicheng and Jieqiong behind on an unfamiliar planet swarming with temporarily disabled policemen. Kunhang hates his guts. Ten is silently pacing across the ship, thinking about how he’s going to get Taeyong out despite being too far away to go back for him. Kun can understand the frustration. He got so close to finding his friend — Kunhang is a part of the system that exploited his friend like a resource — and all he has to show for risking his life for so, so long is a clone that looks at Ten like he’s a totally new person.

It’s not fair. Kun knows that well.

The door slides open as Kun lays across his bed, Ten staring down at him with empty eyes and letting out a deep sigh. “Everyone is fine,” he says, “mainly asleep. Jeonghan and Mingyu are doing shifts at the control panel.”

“Oh,” says Kun. “Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah. I suppose it is,” he says. Ten sits on the edge of Kun’s bunk, smiling down at him weakly. “Kun,” he adds, “everything’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?”

“It was never right, not to begin with,” Kun sighs. “I’m sorry about Taeyong. I promised you something that I didn’t give you. I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Ten swallows. “I’m sorry too. You risked your life. They could have killed you. They still might kill you, Kun, but I’m still here for you,” he says, “because I…” He holds his breath, and chokes out, “Kun, I’m going to kiss you right now.”

Kun’s eyes widen. “Oh,” he says. “I want that, too.”

And Ten is really soft, very smooth, and he kisses in the same manner. Kun can’t believe that this is even happening right now, their lips pressing together, but Ten is so beautiful and so precious that it takes Kun’s breath away. It feels new, but it doesn’t distract from the emptiness that overwhelms Kun, the pain of loss very weakly masked by Ten’s warm breath.

Ten moves away and then blinks at Kun. “I’ve figured it out, Kun,” he says. “You and I — we can _leave_. I have money. They’re going to Sangpota anyway. I can go to Johnny, get my money. I’ll buy a ship, then we can go back and get Taeyong.”

“Ten,” Kun says. “That’s not fair. You can’t just make me leave.”

“No. No, you _can_ leave,” says Ten. “Please, Kun, I need your help. I don’t want — God, I don’t know. All I know is that we could get him back. We were so fucking close.”

“Ten…” Kun sighs.

“I’ll let you think about it,” Ten replies, “but I can’t stick around for very long. I don’t trust Jeonghan and Mingyu. Jaejoong is coming for me, I _know_.”

“Please,” Kun says, “don’t leave.”

“I’m going to, whether you like it or not,” Ten says, “it’s just your choice whether or not you come with me.”

**2**

“So, you come here often?” jokes Yuta, offering Taeyong a small cup of water. It’s no use. Do clones drink? It’s not like he’s really human, after all. “Jaehyun, what the fuck has happened to us?”

Jaehyun paces around the control room. “I don’t know. But I’m glad I’m not dead.”

“It’s confusing,” says Yuta. “I spent all that time thinking about what would happen when I found out what was inside Ward 9. I guess I never expected it to be so…” 

Taeyong is shrowded in a blanket on a chair, his knees pressed to his chest, as he stares a little intensely at Yuta. Well. Yuta certainly never expected to find a person like Taeyong, even a clone of the man himself, and it’s hard to take his eyes away from him. He’s so beautiful. It’s kind of making Yuta go a little crazy.

It’s just nice, though, to be relaxed for the first time in a long while. He isn’t cold, isn’t worried, isn’t _upset_ …

“Yuta, we’re still fucked,” Jaehyun says.

Oh. Yes. About that. Instead of being average, law-abiding citizens, Yuta is carrying damning information about the Government — if only in his mind — and Jaehyun basically deserted the police and sided with assassins who disabled the police officers. They’re on a ship with a fugitive, a Government experiment who is almost human but not quite, and all he and Jaehyun can do is just go along with it. It’s not like they can jump off the ship — all they’re able to do is tag along and wait it out. 

“We’re going to Sangpota,” says Yuta. “We can find somebody who’ll help us out there. Aren’t they all criminals?”

“That’s rude!” Jeonghan shouts from across the room.

“But true!” Tzuyu snaps back.

Jaehyun runs his hand through his hair. He hadn’t accounted for his life being flipped totally upside down. Before, he was just doing what felt right, but it suddenly dawns up him that there’s pretty much nothing he can do. Returning to Helmi would be humiliating but more so _dangerous_ — rural farmers on Helmi are Government loyalists, and he’d probably be reported within a minute or so of stepping onto his home planet — and since Yuta describes his childhood as awkward and unpleasant, Jaehyun supposes they won’t want to go wherever he’s from.

To put it simply, they’re fucked. If the Government have any sense, they’ll have dissolved all of Jaehyun’s bank accounts, so he’s got _nothing_. He’s starting at an absolute zero. Yuta is much the same, but it seems as though he was trying to ignore it before now. Living in ignorance isn’t an option anymore.

“I have an idea,” Mingyu contributes, “but I have a feeling you might hate it.”

“I don’t want to die,” Jaehyun says, decisively, “so anything’s good.”

“Right, right. But it kind of involves a slight…” He pauses. “Okay. It might not work, but I was thinking we could contact Jaejoong, right? He’ll be super pissed about the fact that we sort of ran away, but we did kill the Commissioner, so we can just lie and say we were chasing a lead or something, right? Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan, who is currently sat at the control desk and staring into the unimaginable depth of space, says, “I suppose that could work. Jungwoo lives on Sangpota, right? We could ask him to put us in touch. They’ll send a ship, which would be a goddamn blessing. Has anybody told you how junky your ship is?”

“Countless times,” Tzuyu deadpans.

“Okay…” Mingyu hesitates. “We could give him the clone of Taeyong. Ten doesn’t even have to get involved. That way he’ll forgive us, if only slightly, and we’ll have proven our worth. Right? Jaejoong can find work for anybody. Have you got any outstanding skills?”

“Uh...No. I mean, I can shoot, but that’s, like, not that special,” Jaehyun hums. “I have good aim.”

Yuta bites his lip. “I’m really good at doctoring wounds and shit like that. I wasn’t a nurse for no reason,” he contributes. “Still, you’re forgetting the biggest gap in your logic, Mingyu. This Taeyong is…” He pauses. “Not all there. Actually, he’s not even _close_ to being there.”

“We could say he hit his head,” Mingyu suggests. “Or maybe we could ask the kid?”

“Kunhang?” Tzuyu asks. “No. Not if he doesn’t want to.”

“I’m not saying we force him to tell us anything, but if we got him and Ten, we could probably help this Taeyong learn _something_ ,” Mingyu insists. “Enough to help us get away with this brain injury lie, at least. Come on. It’s not anybody _real_ is getting hurt.”

“What gives you the authority to decide what’s real and what’s not?” Yuta argues.

“You can grow another clone,” Mingyu suggests. “Look, it’s okay if you wanna be a clone rights activist in your own free time, but this is all of us for one clone, right?”

Taeyong looks clueless. Maybe this is for the best, Yuta thinks, but he can’t hide the feeling of how this doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. 

Kunhang is fairly okay with leaving his room, provided he doesn’t have to interact with Kun in any way, shape or form, but he seems to distrust Ten in the same way. If Ten gets too close to him, he crosses his arms over his stomach or flinches away. “I don’t see why you want us specifically, though,” Ten sighs. “I was trying to sleep.”

Mingyu raises his eyebrow. “ _Sleep_ , huh?”

“Fuck off. I still don’t like you,” Ten snaps.

“Okay. Well, we’ve all decided to give the clone of Taeyong to Jaejoong to gain his trust.” Ten’s eyes widen. “We don’t have much of a choice. All of us are criminals now. Cohorting with known fugitives is a crime, don’t you know?”

“Fine. But I’m leaving on Sangpota, and that’s it,” Ten groans. “I don’t want to get involved more than that. Can we leave?”

“Well, no,” Jaehyun says, scratching the back of his neck. “We need to know if you can teach Taeyong some things. Like, basic words, maybe a few memories? None of us knows Taeyong at all. Besides, Kunhang, you’ll know how this stuff works?”

“Vaguely. I saw Doyoung attempt to teach the clones with building blocks and, um, basic words, but I never really understood much,” Kunhang explains. “What he was trying to do was connect our consciousnesses with our copies. If only we had a way of contacting him. He’d know what to do.”

“Textbook Stockholm syndrome,” Ten mouths to Tzuyu. “For fuck’s sake. Fine. I hope you all know that Jaejoong will fuck you over beyond belief and will get mad at _you_ for dying. He’s a really sweet guy.”

“Ten,” Yuta says, “we don’t have an option.”

“We’re still listening to whatever this moron says?” Ten scoffs. 

“It was a fucking mistake, Ten!” Yuta shouts.

“You know what? If you suffocate in your sleep, that’ll be _my_ stupid little mistake!” Ten snaps. “Get out of my sight. I fucking hate you.”

Jaehyun grabs Yuta’s arm gently, and says, “C’mon. Maybe you should go get some sleep. We’re all just incredibly heated up right now, okay? Let’s try not to kill each other.”

“If either of you tries anything, you’re both getting thrown off this ship,” Tzuyu adds.

“Well, that’s _one_ way to solve the problem,” Jaehyun mutters, leading Yuta into another room. It’s probably for the best. Merely looking at Yuta is a painful reminder to Ten that his best friend is still probably in mortal danger. It’s just not good enough.

“Right,” Mingyu says. “Well, shall we —”

“I hate you, too,” Ten growls. “Don’t speak to me.”

“Fucking Hell, Ten, you’re going to have to work on being pleasant to people,” Tzuyu snaps.

“I’m fucked, alright? I’ve lost my best friend. For all I know, Taeyong is already dead!”

Kunhang rests his hand on Ten’s arm, a vague attempt at comfort. “Doyoung wouldn’t do that,” he sighs.

“I don’t give a shit about what Doyoung would or wouldn’t do, okay?” Ten shouts.

Kunhang chews on the inside of his cheek, tears pricking in his eyes. He hates the feeling of being yelled at like that, the shame and anger and inability to fight back flooding his body. He doesn’t want to cry, so he sucks in a shaky breath and mumbles, “Okay. Okay. Do we have to this right now? Can I just —”

“Kunhang, it’s okay,” Tzuyu says, softly. “Don’t listen to him, okay? He’s just upset about his friend.” She slowly approaches Kunhang, and wraps her arms around him. “We’re so glad you’re back. I’m sorry. Just don’t cry, okay? It hurts me when I see you so upset.”

“Thank you,” Kunhang mumbles into her shoulder. 

She lets go, only to backhand Ten straight across his sharp cheekbone. “Get a fucking grip. We’ve all lost people special to us, okay? It’s not Yuta’s fault and it’s not yours, either. We lost Sicheng and Jieqiong, and you don’t see me crying about that, do you? Life is tough, and you have every right to be upset, but you don’t have to take it out on Kunhang! Don’t you think he’s already been through enough? Your bitching is making me hate you.”

Ten frowns, and raises a hand to his reddened cheek. “Fine. I’m sorry, Kunhang.”

“It’s okay,” mutters Kunhang. “I only want to help you, Ten. I like Taeyong too. He’s my friend.”

“Oh,” Ten mumbles. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

**3**

“Well, you certainly weren’t shy with the knife,” the voice observes. “Jieqiong, I can think of a million better ways to deal with this scenario.”

“I got scared! Jieqiong protests. “I didn’t want him to die. I think he’ll be really useful.”

Sicheng has never felt this awful in his entire life. It’s like a migraine and a hangover and a fever all wrapped up in one groggy, delirious, painful nightmare that seems to hold him down. His mouth is extremely dry and his eyes are so heavy, seemingly stuck together from some kind of gunk that he can’t blink away. By the time he’s able to open them, which seems like a battle Sicheng has never imagined he’d fight, all he can see is a plain metal roof. Judging by the vibrations he can feel running across the metal sheet he’s laid across, unable to move his limbs from the sheer ache, they’re on a ship. Which means — fuck, he’s —

Say anything you want about Sicheng, but he’s a lot tougher than he looks. Judging for his smaller frame would be a fatal mistake, and so he tries to push to fatigue out of his way and drag his body into a sitting up position. Once his torso is up, he places his hands down on the metal sheet for extra balance. He feels like he’s going to fall apart any second now, but powering through shit like this has always been Sicheng’s strong suit. 

He scans his eyes across his surroundings. Some kind of medical bay, perchance? Sicheng is met with an agonisingly sharp pain in his shoulder, staring down to see a mess of bandages stretching down from his shoulder to almost his elbow. Oh. The things that come back to him are vague and smokey, but there’s a definite certainty within him that he’s not safe. There’s a creeping feeling that travels up his spine, and it’s not helped by the fact that a woman he doesn’t recognise walks into the room. Like a reflex, he tries to reach for his blaster, but finds his belt empty.

“It’s okay,” says the woman. “My name’s Fei.”

“Fei?” says Sicheng. “Okay, um — God, where the fuck am I?”

“It doesn’t matter. I came to pick up Jieqiong,” Fei explains. “I work for Jaejoong Kim.”

“Fuck,” Sicheng says, wincing as he moves his arm even slightly. “God.”

“Jieqiong should have just killed you. Now we have additional _baggage_ ,” says Fei. “Though she insists that you’re a worthwhile endeavour. Still, though.”

“Baggage?” Sicheng scoffs.

“This was already a failed mission. The police decided to kill Ten, Jaejoong had to have the Commissioner killed, and nobody even got to Ten,” says Fei.

“I never liked the guy, but why would Jaejoong want him dead?”

Fei sighs. She’s very unique-looking; everything about her appearance seems to scream an unreachable level of class, from her silken dress with short sleeves and a high collar to her bright red lips, and Sicheng understands that she’s exactly the kind of person Jaejoong associates with. Sicheng has never personally met the guy, but he’s probably the most morally grey people in the universe. He’s rich, has the police in the palm of his hand, but he’s got a long history of donating to workers’ movements and paying bail for criminals that were illegally imprisoned. It’s funny, Sicheng thinks, how his high-class aesthetic rivals everything an everyday worker hates and yet, in general, people have...Rather _bland_ views in regards to him.

Sicheng still doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like a lot of people, for that matter.

“Ten worked for him. For us,” Fei sighs. “But he hurt Prince Taemin, which rather goes against the good relationship that Jaejoong has with the Prince. It simply made sense to give him up to the authorities, though their decision to put Taeyong through, um, cloning and whatnot…” She makes a loose, unclear gesture with her hand. “Well, that doesn’t matter to Jaejoong. Taeyong is just another human. Ten is not. But the whole not dying thing — that was quite a colourful surprise!”

“Ten’s not human? Fuck me.”

“Oh, yes, it really is curious,” Fei laughs. “But let’s not dwell on such matters! You, according to Jieqiong, are quite the fighter. A survivor! And Jaejoong always has open arms for such people. You’ll make a handsome asset.”

“Fuck that,” Sicheng scoffs. “I don’t work for anybody. I never have.”

“Yes. That is...Quite clear. Sicheng Dong — hm, what was it? You have quite the history of murdering police officers. And all because your parents starved to death in prison in an act of passive resistance? Or so they _say_ , of course,” Fei coos. “I understand. In such trying times, old-fashioned political terminology is obsolete, but I suppose we could say your parents were socialists? And you?”

“I don’t know where the fuck you found out any of that information, but you can get fucked if you think I tell you anything else,” Sicheng spits, and lays back down on the metal bed. “You can kill me. I don’t care. I won’t give up my dignity just to stay alive — shit like that means nothing to me.”

“Ah. Mrs and Mr Dong would be so proud!” Fei laughs, clapping her hands. “Still, though. You would be mistaken to think that we would just let you waste away. There are plenty of things yet to be done with you. When we get to Jaejoong’s planet, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to meet you.” She walks away for a second, and returns with an intimidatingly big syringe. “But your bad language is rather unpleasant for me to hear, so it’s best you rest, hm?”

No. Fuck that. As Fei’s hand leans over to press the needle into his tanned neck, Sicheng’s brain short-circuits and he does what his brain illogically thinks is the best course of action in that scenario. He flinches, twists his neck, and bites her hand as hard as his jaw will clamp down. It isn’t very effective, though. His jaw aches, and she simply grasps the syringe with her other hand and shoves it in his skin ungracefully.

“Stupid dog,” she says, scornfully. 

**4**

“So,” Ten says, touching Taeyong’s hand as a form of reassurance. Ten points at himself, attempts to smile, and then states, calmly, “Ten.”

Taeyong’s eyes widen. “Ten,” he repeats, slowly. “Ten. Ten.”

Kunhang points at himself, too. “Kunhang.”

Taeyong smiles, and repeats. It’s strange, Ten thinks, how he can look so much like Taeyong and yet not possess a single one of his characteristics. Despite how disconcerting he finds it, Kunhang is remarkably calm. There’s an overwhelming spike of jealousy in Ten’s stomach. Taeyong is _his_ friend, after all, and they were together forever — right? But the more he thinks about it, Ten drowns in imagined memories of Kunhang and Taeyong’s closeness. It feels _wrong_. 

Despite this, though, he can’t bring himself to hate Kunhang. Aren’t they supposed to be the same? Whatever that means, Ten doesn’t have any trouble seeing it. When Ten was Kunhang’s age, he wasn’t innocent. Kunhang has suffered more than he surely deserves, after all, and wears the scars to prove it. IV scars line his arms, incisions on his skin, a cut on his forehead from where the razor that shaved his growing-back hair sliced his skin. He looks thin, like he hasn’t eaten proper food in weeks, and yet is still smiling encouragingly at Taeyong, pointing to random objects and getting the other to repeat what he says. Although he changed out of the simple white clothes that Taeyong is still dressed in, Ten can’t help but see him fitting in perfectly in some evil doctor’s laboratory. Or not so evil, as Kunhang professes.

“Is Taeyong okay? Do you think?” In the otherwise silence of the room containing solely those three, Ten’s words echo uncomfortably. “I just…”

“You miss him?” Kunhang completes. He pokes Taeyong’s nose, instigating a short, sweet laugh from the other. “I do, too. We talked a lot.”

“About me?”

Kunhang nods. “Mm. All the time. He would hold my hand and swear that you’d get me out as well when you inevitably rescued him,” he explains. “Please don’t feel bad, Ten. He’ll still love you.”

“I’m sorry for being cruel to you,” Ten apologises. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. It’s just that — I don’t have anything other than Taeyong.” He bites at a hangnail nervously. “Jieqiong said that we were the same. I wonder what that means.”

“Oh, Jieqiong. She’s really nice. She was a bit obsessed with my biology, though. I change…” He pauses. “It’s silly. I always thought I was human. I’d only ever lived on planets where people looked human, and…”

“Me too,” Ten laughs. “I guess I never thought to ask. I didn’t have any parents to answer my questions, that is.”

“Mine died. I don’t remember them.” Kunhang swallows. “You say you can’t die?”

“Nope. Nothing works,” Ten says. “Don’t try and test that skill out, though!”

“Gotcha,” Kunhang giggles. 

Taeyong stands in-between the two, carefully presses an individual hand to their faces, and says, “Ten, Kunhang, Taeyong.”

“I’m leaving when we get to Sangpota,” says Ten. “You’re welcome to come. If Taeyong trusts you, so do I.”

“I…” He sighs. “I suppose I’ve got nothing to lose. Nobody really understands me. Not anymore.”

“But there’s one thing you should know. Kun is coming,” Ten states. Kunhang vehemently shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Kunhang, but he really wants the best for you. When I first met him, he told me about how he regretted what happened so deeply. I could tell it haunted him, Kunhang. You don’t have to forgive him, but you have to understand that he cares about you so, so much.”

“Give me some time to think about it,” Kunhang sighs. “So, who wants to teach Taeyong about human anatomy?”

“Well, aren’t you the expert with clones?” Ten laughs. Kunhang’s nose crinkles and he laughs, too. Such a sensation is strange, but he’s missed it so much.


	11. Chapter 11

**1**

Feeling defenceless is something that Sicheng can't handle. It's why he has a utility belt filled with weapons, from pocket knives to tasers, and to have that taken away is terrifying. He's not a bad fighter, but it's always good to have something to fall back on.

And now — he's stuck. And he doesn't like it, his vision blurry and his head feeling like it's stuck in quicksand, but Sicheng knows that he can't do anything about it. He just has to suffer, for better or for worse, until he figures out how to get out of this situation.

He's got no doubt that he _will_ , but it's a matter of time. He should've listened to Tzuyu's advice — keeping a blade under your tongue at all times is the best way to guarantee self-preservation. He just didn't like the taste. It felt like he was drinking his own blood, that metallic tang filling his mouth. 

Here's the thing, though — there's nothing he despises _more_ than being manhandled, and being dragged off a ship while he's unable to walk is just humiliating. He wants to shout and fight back against her grip — Fei, was it? — but his attempts at thrashing against her are fruitless, his movements slow and uncalculated.

Whatever he's doing, it isn't working.

Sicheng starts focusing on what he can. The sound of her heels against the metal floor. The slow, steady beat of his heart. The thrum of an engine beneath his dragging feet. This can't be a planet — which must mean —

He falls to the floor. It feels cold against his skin, and also _painful_ , though his throbbing muscles are numbed slightly from the injection, whatever that was, and its numbing qualities. Sicheng's mouth is dry. His fingers twitch, reaching for something that's way out of his grasp.

"You're back," says a voice. He can't really tell what he's dreaming and what is actually being said, but he tries his best. Sicheng doesn't want to be vulnerable. If he was anybody else, he may well have just passed out, but his determination to not let himself become a victim means that he's clinging onto everything he's got with his fingernails. "And you brought me a gift!"

All he's got left is himself. Sicheng knows that his friends aren't coming for him — whether that's his fault or not is a moot point, considering he told Kun when he first met him that the last thing he wanted was to be seen as somebody who needed rescuing from anybody else, because there's a voice in the back of his head that's saying _you know exactly where you are, but how exactly are you going to get out?_

Sicheng steadies his breathing. That's the first step of establishing control over a situation.

"Well. You know. Jieqiong saw red," Fei explains. "But she says he's worth your while."

"We'll see about that," replies the voice. "For God's sake. You send a person to do one thing, and they do the opposite — speaking of, Jeonghan and Mingyu have decided they're going to be little rebels. Whatever. I'll send somebody after _them_. And somebody after the boy, and after Ten." 

"And what about Jieqiong?"

"I don't care. If she'd brought me the boy, it would've been a different story," the voice hums. "I gave her everything, for fuck's sake! I only needed her to get him. I should've sent somebody I trusted, not just because her father told me to. And I'm not easily bought off, you know. Fei, does everyone take me for a fucking fool? Do _you_?"

"No. No, of course not," she answers.

"Good. Then let's start fresh," the voice sighs. "We'll go about this a different angle. Get rid of Jieqiong. Go tell Minghao and Jun that they've got a job to do, and I'll see what I can do about this one. Once we've got the boy and Ten, I'll gut this fucking ship of any person who thinks they know better than me."

"Yes, Jaejoong," Fei says.

Sicheng swallows, but his throat is totally dry.

Jaejoong kneels down to stare strangely at Sicheng's face. "You're the toughest guy in the galaxy, huh? You don't look it."

Sicheng croaks out, "Fuck you," but Jaejoong doesn't look offended. He looks _amused_. 

"Come on, then," Jaejoong says, grabbing Sicheng by his collar.

**2**

"The trick is with Sangpota, you can't look scared," Ten says. "Gotta put on your bravest face, even if you don't like it, right?"

Kunhang looks cold, no matter what he wears. His old shirts swamp him with fabric. Although he insists with some passion that he's _fine_ , Ten isn't convinced. Taeyong was the same. Lying is always the easiest option. 

"I'm used to…" Kunhang smiles. "Used to suffering, if that makes sense. I grew up in Kristillinen —"

"Kristillinen? Jesus," Ten scoffs. "It's just…" He bites his lip. "Jesus. Really?"

"I'm a street kid. I'll be fine, I promise," laughs Kunhang, a little nervously. "I'm stronger than I look, I promise." Ten ruffles his hair softly. "No. Really. Very. I'm only twitching because — because I'm cold. Very cold."

That might be the point, but Ten can't pull his attention away from the fact that Kunhang grew up in Kristillinen. It's one step away from complete destitution, a planet a million miles away from anywhere else; once made beautiful and ruined ten times over. A missionary pet project, one could say, with churches lining every corner. The people are violent and angry — Ten should _know_. He was born there. He lived there, too. He started life starving and took himself away from that place. He didn't have any other option. You die if you live in Kristillinen.

You die if you live in Sangpota. But that's another matter entirely.

Sangpota is not the kind of place that anybody would ever willingly choose to visit — it’s dark and it’s grimy and fucking _hot_ , the majority of the heat spilling out from the factories and the streets sweating from steam spilling out of the pans of the vendors’ stalls. The cities are shrouded in smog, but the countryside is — to put it plainly — beautiful. Beautiful, and protected. 

The Government has torn through natural resources like nothing else. Everything that could be taken was taken, with vigour or without a fight, and since the trillions need basic things like food and water and shelter to survive, the Government tries very hard to make what they’ve got left last. The rice paddies of Sangpota, the wheat fields of Helmi, the mines of Vena. Nothing lasts forever. Even Sademetsä is dry and lifeless, those glittering green rainforests devoured by machines. Anybody old enough to remember those tragedies has been silenced — through imprisonment, through blackmail, through a good, old-fashioned tongue cutting.

Ten walks over to the copy of Taeyong, a honey-eyed fake, and smiles at him. "I'm gonna get you back, y'know," says Ten. "I know…" He sighs. "I know you're not real. But you're nearly there."

Taeyong blushes. "Ten," he says, softly. "I'm Taeyong."

Mingyu likes to make his presence known. His boots clunk against the metal floor and he yawns like he's screaming. "Good morning!" he shouts. Ten shoots him a violent look. "Bloody hell, d'you wanna skin me?" 

"Oh, thanks for the idea," Ten says. "You be careful with Taeyong, okay?"

"He's not _real_ ," says Mingyu. "Jeonghan, are you dead?" 

A dead-looking Jeonghan spins around from the control panel and says, "Yes. I'm dead. But we're nearly in Sangpota. I had a nightmare that the ship was crashing, but it was just your feet making the whole ship shake."

"Really?" Mingyu says. "Huh." It's clear enough that he's unaware of his own presence, so at least he isn't trying to feign ignorance. "How long?"

"I don't know. Soon," Jeonghan says. "And if you ask me again, I'm going to cut your tongue out."

Mingyu blows him a kiss. "I should go wake the others up," he says. "It's really creepy, y'know, the way he stares."

Ten flashes his eyes towards Taeyong and Kunhang. "Which one?"

"God. Both," Mingyu says. "No offence, of course, but you are…" He gestures vaguely towards nothing. "...a bit…" Instead of completing his sentence, Mingyu just walks out of the control room and through the snapping doors. 

Kunhang groans. "God. That's…"

"Don't worry," Ten says. "You look fine. Mingyu is just the worst."

"Ditto,” Jeonghan sighs. 

Kunhang grimaces weekly. “We should probably find some clothes for Taeyong that aren’t a white hospital gown,” he suggests. “I’ll...go. He can borrow mine.” With that, he leaves the room as well, grabbing Taeyong’s hand tightly and leading him away from where he was stood, swaying slightly with nothing interesting to do or say in his head. 

Ten approaches the control panel slowly, biting his lip. “Where’s Tzuyu?”

“She wanted to sleep,” Jeonghan explains, “in her own bed. So, I…” He stares down at the panel. “Didn’t intend to fall asleep too. Hey. We could’ve died.”

“Shut up, stupid, this ship has autopilot,” Ten groans, sitting down in the seat next to Jeonghan. “Would you have just given me back to Jaejoong?”

“He didn’t even know you were alive until recently. Like, _super_ recently,” Jeonghan explains, toying with his blonde hair. “I mean, yeah, probably. But you would’ve done the same for me. It’s just a job, right? And we just knew each other — neither Mingyu or I were close to you. Ten, you were untouchable. Arguably, you were always Jaejoong’s favourite. Something about you, Ten, I…” He groans. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Ten swallows. “Were you jealous?”

“A bit, yeah. But we’re the same…” He looks Ten directly in the eyes. “You know we are, right? I was talking to Tzuyu about it last night. Jaejoong was always right about you. You _are_ untouchable, but probably the most insufferable person I’ve ever met. You didn’t have to go back for Taeyong. You could’ve left him. Jaejoong knew you were alive from the moment you went back for him. I would've done the same for Mingyu.”

Ten laughs. “I was always looking for him,” he says. “Always. I woke up in a pile of dead bodies. The smell, fuck. And they were all so bloated. I couldn’t breathe. If I touched them, the skin broke, and I just pushed my way through. I was looking for him for…” He tries to count in his head. “So, _so_ long. I went on ship after ship, risking my own life, but I could never find him, see? I was going to give up. I found Kun. And I almost found him, I did, but…”

“If you were out there for all that time, it’s a wonder Jaejoong only found out you were alive so recently,” Jeonghan hums. “Maybe you’re better than him. Or at least getting there. The galaxy is full of people who work for him. Even the Government is…” He shakes his head. “Look, I’m the asshole who’s going to grovel and ask for more work, so what’s the point? People in glass houses, right?”

“Hah,” Ten says. “Jeonghan-ah, you don’t _have_ to go back. I’ve lived as a dead man. I lived that way for months. Sangpotans don’t _care_ — shouldn’t you know that?”

“Ten, I have a family.”

“Fuck, for real?”

“Yeah. My mom, my dad, my siblings,” Jeonghan sighs. “And he’ll kill them.” He stares out at the planet’s crowded surface. They’re so close that the cities are becoming more and more distinguished, skyscrapers clouded in smog, and Jeonghan can’t help but think _home, at last_. It’s always been disgusting, but just the right amount of disgusting. “He knows everything. I bet he even knows our fucking ancestors by name, Ten. It’s just not a risk I want to take. I’ve already done enough already and had enough done to me.”

“Jeonghan,” Ten says, “I’m sorry. And I know it means nothing, but I really am. Like you said, we’re the same.”

“I’ve killed more people than I can count,” Jeonghan says. “Do you want to know what’s the worst, Ten? I’m just fighting for the people I hate. The Government just gets Jaejoong to do their dirty business.” He sighs. “As if there’s such a thing as a ‘Government’, though.”

“I’m going to kill him, y’know,” Ten says.

“Who? Jaejoong.”

“No. Prince Taemin.”

“Is that what you really want?” Jaejoong says. 

“Yeah. Because,” Ten sighs, “it’s him. We all know it.”

“Yeah,” Jeonghan laughs, airily. “Don’t be too mean to Mingyu. He’s sensitive.”

“And you’re not?” Ten asks.

“No. Of course not. Who do you think I am?” Jeonghan replies.

“Good. Me neither,” Ten says. For a good minute, they sit in mutually acceptive silence, understanding each others’ presence. Ten doesn’t feel such burning resentment anymore — they’re the same. They did horrible things, and will continue to do so. It doesn’t mean that Ten likes Jeonghan, but he gets the scramble for any power available. Killing is better than being killed. 

Tzuyu strides into the room, frowning at Ten. She crosses her arms. “Jeonghan, is he bothering you?”

“No. We’re discussing how fucked up we are,” Jeonghan laughs, smiling with a sharp, shark-like grin. “But that’s beyond the point. We should be landing soon.”

“Great,” says Tzuyu. “Here’s the plan. You and Mingyu find Jungwoo, we get a lift to the Leijona, Jaejoong finds us work.”

“Yep. Essentially. People are always coming to Jaejoong to get shit done,” Jeonghan sighs. “Be it murder, violence, theft, drugs, sex trafficking, whatever, it all goes through him.” He picks at the loose hem of his sleeve. “You might as well cut off all ties with anybody you care about. He’ll kill them.”

“God. Remind me why I’m doing this again, Jeonghan?”

“Because if you work for Jaejoong, the Government won’t touch you,” Jeonghan laughs. “Unless you’re Ten, that is. Just avoid Prince Taemin, that’s the trick.”

**3**

“You know, Kunhang, I’m gonna miss you _so_ much,” Dejun mumbles. He’s got his arms wrapped tightly around Kunhang, pressing his face into the other’s shoulder. “And you’ve got your comm, right? So we can still talk?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kunhang says. “I love you, Dejun. And Yangyang, too. It’s just —”

“We get it,” Yangyang replies, smiling warmly. “You need to do things for yourself. And we want you to stay, but I — I get it. I really do.”

“Come with me, then,” Kunhang begs. 

“You know we can’t,” Dejun sighs. “Kunhang, we can’t all just become runaways. It just wouldn’t work. But we know you’ll be safe with Ten! He’s really kinda scary.”

The air in Sangpota is swelteringly hot, and the hug is starting to feel a little sticky. Besides, it’s clear from Ten’s anxious expression and twitching leg that he wants to go, like, _now_. Sticking around is making him nervous. As soon as he’s with Johnny, the anxiety will subside a little. 

“Be safe, okay?” says Kunhang. 

“We will. And you too,” Yangyang says, briefly tapping Kunhang’s shoulder. This weather isn’t really conducive to extreme physical contact. “We love you. Tzuyu does, too. It’s just difficult for her.”

“I know,” Kunhang sighs. Ten starts tugging on his arm, and he smiles awkwardly. “Love you! I really do!”

Kunhang is used to being lonely, though. His entire childhood was spent moving about, home to home, and when he didn’t have a place to return to, he was left to find his own way about. It’s not like he remembers his parents, nor any real impact they had on him. For him, home is a vague concept that means incredibly little. He tried his hardest to find comfort in Kun’s crew, but being apart from them doesn’t hurt as much as expected.

It feels — off. A dull pain, one that’ll fade with time. He trails behind Ten and Kun, awkwardly trying to avoid Kun’s pitiful stares, and realises that Sangpota is a lot closer to Kristillinen than any other place he’s been. There’s a notable absence of crosses and iconography, but that’s to be expected. Having Jesus’ eyes burning into his back never eased Kunhang’s anxiety all that much.

He doesn’t want to be apathetic. He just feels too tired to really care anymore. These people aren’t his friends — Kun let him go. Kun never cared. And Ten, too — he’s only nice to him because Kunhang knows Taeyong, right? The crew, too. He doesn’t like how they’re just handing themselves into Jaejoong. He doesn’t like any of this.

So he stops. 

“Ten,” Kunhang whimpers. “I don’t want to do this.”

“What?” Ten snaps. “Look, I —”

His eyes get glossy and his upper lip trembles. “I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to do any of this!”

“Kunhang,” Ten says, softly, extremely conscious of the fact that Kunhang is currently bursting into tears in the middle of a bustling street. “Kunhang, okay, listen to me, it’s gonna be okay. I promise. I promise you. We just need to —”

“I feel sick,” Kunhang says. His legs feel extremely shaky. Ten tries to touch his shoulder in an emotionally repressed gesture and Kunhang downright shoves him away. He’s not very strong, but the action still stings. “I don’t like it, Ten! I don’t like any of this.”

“Kunhang, please,” Kun says.

There are tears streaming down Kunhang’s cheeks when he screams, voice cracking, “It’s not like you’re any fucking better! Why don’t any of you get it? I’m fucked up! I’m broken!”

“Kunhang, what makes you think that?” Ten asks, calmly. 

“Because I want to go _back_ ,” Kunhang sobs.

“No, of course you don’t,” Ten says. His voice comes out in a laugh, shocked by the sheer ridiculousness. “Kunhang, you were a fucking test subject. You just think that you want to go back — because —”

Kunhang can’t breathe properly. “I’m so fucking sick of this! You don’t get it. You never will!” he screams. “I can’t stand it! Everything is so loud and hot and awful and I _liked_ it — the stability, I really did. I knew what I was getting. Doyoung gave a shit about me, and you clearly don’t. I want to go _home_ , Ten!”

Ten grabs his wrist, tight and unforgiving. “You can fucking think again if you think I’m letting you go back there,” he snaps. “Now, can we go?” Kunhang refuses to be dragged, standing his ground despite Ten’s growing frustration. Kun feels torn. He doesn’t think Ten is being exactly fair, a consequence of his extremely thin patience, but he can’t say anything to appease the situation. They’re already getting weird glances, which is truly a testament to the dramatics Kunhang is displaying. People get kidnapped here all the time. Nobody is stopping to help.

“Ten, let him go,” Kun says. Ten stares him down, jaw locked and eyes furious. With the most force he can muster, Kun spits, “Ten, let him _go_.”

To his surprise, it works. Ten’s grip loosens and his arm falls to his side. “Kunhang,” Kun says. “Please. It’s only a bit longer. We can figure this out. It’ll all be okay soon, I swear. I don’t want to lose you again. I love you. I would give my life to make sure you’re safe.”

Kunhang wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. “Fine,” he mumbles. Whatever. He can get back any time he likes — for now, though, he’ll go along with this hairbrained plan. Nothing ever works these days, so he won’t be surprised when everything blows up in Ten’s face.

**4**

"Jeonghan!" Jungwoo shouts. "Jeonghan, Mingyu, come in!"

Tzuyu is taken aback by the sheer size of the guy's apartment. Everything is totally clean and modern, especially considering the rotting exterior of the apartment block, and Jungwoo is practically bouncing around on the white floor. Despite the lack of furniture, everything seems in brand-new condition. A small white cat brushes past her leg, and she kneels down to pat it on the head.

It was a bit awkward getting to the apartment in the first place — due to the sheer amount of them, Tzuyu felt overly conscious that they looked like a group of out-of-touch tourists. That's the best way to get stolen from or, if you're _really_ unlucky, get stolen yourself.

Jungwoo scoops the cat up into his arms, its fluffy white tail falling across his shoulder, and says, "I'm looking after Changmin's cats. I don't mind it that much — they're really cute, huh? Wanna hold one? God, I'm so glad somebody is here. I was getting bored out of my mind, and now I've got loads of friends."

Jeonghan smiles at Jungwoo affectionately and allows Jungwoo to place the cat in his open arms. "I'm sorry, Jungwoo, we can't stay for long," says Jeonghan. "We need to get Jaejoong to send us a ship to get back to the Leijona. It's a long story, see, and —"

"Well," Jungwoo says. "Okay. Fine. I _thought_ you wanted to see me, but fine. Cool."

Jungwoo walks over to the coffee table and picks up his comm. It's uncomfortable, considering there are so many of them who are watching a complete stranger go through the motions of a pseudo-tantrum, but he simply starts speaking into the comm, and seems fine a few seconds after. 

"He wants to speak to you," Jungwoo mutters. "Sounds pretty pissed. What have you done?

Jeonghan finds it hard to relocate the cat into Mingyu's arms and take the comm from Jungwoo at the same time, but almost regrets picking up the comm in the first place when Jaejoong starts screaming into his ear.

"Fucking hell, d'you mind laying off a bit?" Jeonghan shouts back. "Well, it's not my fucking fault! No, no. Well, if you'd stop screaming for two fucking seconds I'll tell you! Alright. Fucking hell." He pauses. "We have Taeyong." A beat of silence. "Oh, I know, alright? It just happened! It wasn't my fucking fault! Right. Right. Well, if you don't want —" 

Jeonghan groans. "Right. Fine. See you." He grimaces the others. "He's pissed. But he's sending a ship."

Taeil bites his lip. "Is it bad?"

"Well," Jeonghan sighs, "it isn't _good_. I don't think he particularly wants Taeyong. But whatever. Not my problem."

Mingyu smiles down at the cat. "Isn't she adorable?"

**Author's Note:**

> when it's 2am but your brain is full of ideas so you write THIS shit......actually jokes on me this is my life now. also biggest secret ever but im really into spacey shit and sci-fi but also kpop.....like pick a struggle omg
> 
> [my twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/taeminsgoblin) | [my tumblr](https://marsieee.tumblr.com)


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